In the two weeks I served as an intern for Night Vale Community Radio two things were certain. One, I will never be able to keep my shoes free from the slick slime that oozes from under Station Management’s door, and two, my work will never end.
I know, it’s a blessing to be able to stand so close to Station Management and not perish. I agree with you whole heartedly. Afternoon switchboard operator Jerry Hartman was not as fortunate. However, I have had it up to here (and I am aware that you can’t see me, so I’ll have you know that I’m holding my hand up to eye level, and I am of average height).
With what, you ask? With the to do list that appears on the wall of my cubicle at precisely 8:03 AM written in what appears to be either red paint or raspberry syrup or blood, outlining my intern responsibilities. I’m not bothered that the letters drip onto the carpet. In fact, I find it quite charming. It gives it a lived-in feel, morre homey. What bothers me is the fact that the list seems to go on and on, and whenever an intern dies, the list gets even longer.
It’s not that I’m not grateful for the experience this provides me, but sometimes I wish I had more time to go out. You know, spend some time with my friends, maybe even pay a visit to the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex to topple some pins or a tiny underground city. The usual.
But this is Night Vale, and an internship is only one of the many ways you can sign your soul off to the city. I just wish my fellow interns wouldn’t die so quickly, or if they do, I wish they finish their assignments at least so I don’t have to deal with them. I still feel the burn of that three-hole punch that I had to deal with because Blake didn’t read the safety manual. Idiot.
Furthermore, I’m still finding wingless insects crawling around my desk, demanding to be renamed. Thanks a lot Richard, you just had to listen to the whispering forest, didn’t you? And now I have to dig through Jeoffrey and his ant friends because they decided to make a nest in my desk drawer.
Oop, I just heard Khoshekh meow from the men’s bathroom. I suppose it’s lunch time for him. Brad used to feed him but street cleaning day happened and now I have to. I mean I have come to love Khoshekh so I don’t really mind. I’m getting better at avoiding his spikes. I suppose I have to go now. Khoshekh’s low, rumbling meow echoes through the building again.
An intern’s work is never done.
Welcome to my side of Night Vale 