The job of an intern relies solely on post-it notes. The sticky yellow pages become an accessory, a necessity, and an addiction. An intern without their post-it notes can not eat, drink, or breath without their obnoxiously colored sidekicks.

As I scribble something in my notes, the other intern pops in to see how I’m doing? How’s it going? Any problems? Can I help?


Stop hovering, woman.

Her makeup is excessively distracting. How much eye shadow does a 15-year old girl need? Am I getting old? Geez, I’m only 16.


A man from some sort of assisted living facility calls, and I ask if he’d like to list his properties. I already have miss, I spoke to the other intern already miss, maybe you two should speak together and confirm notes miss, maybe you should call me back after you correct your mistakes miss; and maybe, you should find a new line of work, miss.


Yes sir, very good sir


The blinds close automatically around 2PM, as if they’re trying to encourage that sleepy, 2 o’clock feeling.


The boss mumbles something from across the cubicle, and since I can’t understand a word, I nod my head in agreement. He’s even more soft spoken than I am.


I pull another sticky note from the pile to continue my story. The second intern checks in again, and my job is put on repeat.


My patience grows as thin as the stack of post-its. When can I run to the supply room?