Bartleby the Intern

Cranky is working in an office. HELP! Unfortunately, it turns out that Cranky is efficient at this sort of thing, so Cranky’s desk is a mountain of folders and papers and everyone else’s is empty. (Can I go home now?) Of course, as fate would have it, it is a quirky office. So Cranky is compiling stories that will be fodder for future plays for like fifteen or twenty years. Seriously. Who knew the office world had more crazies than the theatrical world?

We recently hired an intern to do our Social Media. Which is annoying in itself. Because to be a business now you HAVE to have a Social Media “presence,” so you are forced to pay someone to post inane crap on Facebook and Twitter to make the Google search engine happy. Every recent grad should thank Google that there is a job for them now when they get out of school reposting Buzz feed posts.

So we hired someone with a Masters from Columbia. It’s in Poetry, so there were probably two other people in her program. She had an exaggerated valley girl accent, and talked really loud which made Cranky want to get rid of her immediately. But it didn’t take very long, really. She was so superficial, the title of her autobiography should be: IT’S ALL ABOUT GUCCI. “OMG! I found a Marc Jacobs jacket! Don’t you love this Louis Vuitton bag?”

Within three weeks, she convinced the owner that she needed to be paid for forty hours in order to do her job. Facebook and Twitter. She was constantly printing out the graphs from the sites and exclaiming, “WE HAVE 7 BIZILLION TWITTER FOLLOWERS! WE GOT 8 THOUSAND LIKES ON FACEBOOK!” Nice. But did this translate into one new client? No. But not understanding Social Media, the boss was impressed and paid her for forty hours. Most of which she spent shopping and (in and out of the office). She called it an “integrated lifestyle,” which is code for I CAN WORK WHENEVER THE FUCK I WANT.

Then she breaks up with her boyfriend and sleeps on friend’s couches and starts surreptitiously sleeping at the office. I go in early one day and she is there. Which was odd. When questioned, she says, “I came in early because the office was like such a mess I didn’t even want you to see it.’ This from someone who does nothing in the office. Her clothes start collecting around the floor of her desk. One morning the boss comes in early and finds her in bed in the back office with a random guy. The boss left and I had to listen to her cry all day about how she had screwed up (good double entendre, you think?). I am actually trying to work, and I have to look at her with mascara running down her face telling me how much she loathes herself. She uses the word loathes instead of hates because she is a poet.

A few days later, she spends an entire day talking about how she is getting STD tested and she is stressed about it. What if she has this? What if she has that? What if she shut up for ten minutes? I finally say I’ve had enough about the STDs.

Two days later, her integrated lifestyle plan kicks into high-gear when she tells us she has to leave at 1:30 because she got herself cast in a porn film. Ah, what? Yeah. She’s excited. This is why she got the STD test, because they demand documentation of no STD’s before you can work with them. Hers is clear, and she keeps saying, “I can’t believe I am so pure.” She spends the morning changing outfits and twisting her hair and showing me the great self-tanning product she is wearing. Then she goes out for a minute and the boss tells me she is going to buy an enema because she has been hired to do anal on the film. Why do I have to know this? Do you ever wonder why people tell you things? So she comes back with a CVS bag and goes into the Ladies room that we share with the other offices on the floor. Then Cranky has to pee like a racehorse. But wild horses could not drag Cranky into that Ladies room because I know what’s going on in there and I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. I am suffering. She is taking forever. After she finally returns, I go in there and there is water all over the floor. I realize I am the only one who knows this is ass water. Shoot me now.

Cranky is afraid she is going to have some kind of breakdown on the set, but when she comes in the next morning the first thing she says is, “I had the best night’s sleep.” Go figure.

Her expulsion finally occurs when she sets her sights on the boss’s boyfriend. Bu-bye intern.

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2 Responses to “Bartleby the Intern”


  1. 1 li88yinc May 28, 2014 at 10:28 am

    This is amazing! So much for poets anymore.

  2. 2 HaHaRiki May 21, 2014 at 11:29 pm

    I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe or throw up! Good luck with the “office” lifestyle (& the people involved)!


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