welcome to the working week

my first day as an intern at wholphin was a momentous occasion that bore the weight and importance as one's first day of high school, and I behaved no differently. the night before I was all abuzz with butterflies rioting in my stomach and I laid out my Most Responsible Outfit with care after ironing everything to sleek, crisp finish and matching my accessories accordingly. (did the red beaded necklace say "business" or "floozy"? oh, fuck it. fuck it fuck it fuck it.) I expected everything and nothing, but mostly everything, and woke up every hour on the hour to ensure that I had not, in fact, slept through my alarm and blown the whole thing.

I was supposed to arrive the office at eleven, and having departed 15 minutes or so later than intended after initiating a battle with my flat iron that had not been factored into the preparation itinerary, ended up missing the 22. it rattled past me unsympathetically as I rounded the corner next to the stop and I briefly considered the pros and cons of flinging myself against the side of the bus as if I were wearing a suit made of suction cups the way the life or death muni-goers often do. I decided against it, if only to save face. dignity may be a illusion, but it's one I was willing to uphold to keep my confidence in peak condition.

ah, so this is how the other 80% lives, I thought to myself, strolling in the sunshine to my new office job, fully alert at ten AM and toting a macbook under my arm. autolux was booming through my earphones and I was trying not to obsess but failing miserably, my mind stuck in overdrive with oh god, july, rent is due. what if I forgot something? everything? what if I need a pencil? double stick tape? flash cards? shit. did I turn that stupid flat iron off? will my house burn down? what if it burns to the ground and I am responsible for murdering my cat, rufus, trapped inside, flames licking the walls, wondering why I've forsaken him? I'm a cat killer. christ. what if I don't find an apartment before... oh, and what if these people think I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have worn the red beads. I need more coffee. will they think it's irresponsible to show up with coffee? will they think I dilly-dallied? will they think that my iced latte implicates my irresponsible nature and that I couldn't go to bed early enough and I was just leisurely meandering my way to the first-day-of-the-rest-of-my-life unable to function in the normal adult world without the aide of a stimulant? do normal people do this?

no. the answer is no. but at 10:54 I found myself vis-à-vis with 846 valencia, and boldly swung the door open much more gallantly than I actually felt, in case anyone had been watching.

they weren't. the room was well-lit with high ceilings and was reminiscent of what I remember study hall to be like. the bookshelves were tall, loaded and lining the walls, collapsable poker tables set up at odd angles, ikea desks with occupants peering through their glasses at the screens of their laptops. it was silent except for whispering white noise of fingertips deftly dancing across keyboards, and there were perhaps 8 or 10 people inside, two looked up momentarily and then returned to their business. to my relief, no one had yet asked me if I was lost, and I looked askance at a copy machine as if it might be able to provide me with some answers only to find myself face to face with another bespectacled character with slightly unruly hair who raised his eyebrows and simply said, "mmyesss?"

"I'm looking for the," shit, I shouldn't have paused, now I am going to sound stupid, especially if I pronounce this wrong, "hole-fins." I bit my lip.

"ah yes." he answered. "the Wall-Fins are right down that stairway into the basement.

god damnit. I hope no one heard that.

"thanks." I muttered, turning to the concrete stairway that led underground. of course it's wall-fin. wholphin! hello! they're all going to know I didn't go to college.

I swished one last gulp of coffee down as I descended the stairs and noticed one solitary, antique looking mouse trap on the fourth step form the bottom, complete with a bit of cheese bait on the edge. this vermin catcher inexplicably lightened me up, and by the time I reached the basement I was wearing one of my show stopper grins and had my firm handshake ready for quickdraw like a six shooter. yes. here I am, wall-fins! I shall swim with you! eee-eeee! eeeee-eeee---eeeeee!

composure. decorum!

brent brought blackberries and comic relief, emily gave us a warm welcome to the team and some firmer ideas of what our roles would be, and the other two interns brought ambition as well. the initial inauguration speech was exciting and I stopped thinking about if I should've brought donuts and started thinking about all of the amazing opportunities I am about to have to explore art and express myself and be a part of the company that I've been obsessed with for years. the red beads are fine. they love me already. I'm not sure how I feel about the boy-intern's art fag mullet, but they'll love me. I am the kooky blonde they've been dreaming of.

our first task was to watch short film submissions and determine whether or not they are potential material for the quarterly or the website. I took notes on all of them that I screened even though I'm fairly sure that was not required. this was my favorite submission:

• Alex and Her Arse Truck by Sean Conway

This 15 minute film was a sexually perverse romp through the misadventures and deviant behavior of an underage blonde British gutterpunk named Alex and her boyfriend “Babyshoes”. Alex makes her living selling dirty underwear on her website and making amateur porn, spending her spare time soaking in the bathtub under the adoring watch of her equally skewed, yet lovable paramour.

“Even Marvin Gaye once said, “What’s going on?”. I feel the same way sometimes.” -Babyshoes


so, in short. this is awesome. this is amazing. I want to throw myself into the fray with as untainted of a heart that I came to this city with 4 years ago. I'm a believer. I'm a believer.

I think I might bring donuts tomorrow.