The Pledgeternship


Many of us know, as we mature get older our summers become less about the 3 B’s (booze, boats, bitches), and more about setting yourself up to be successful in the postgrad life. You know, shaking those hands that we talk so much about shaking, because our GPAs tend to be lower than our BACs.

Interning sucks. Whether it’s a paid internship or not, you are essentially a pledge for whatever company you have the so-called “pleasure” of being a part of. Get coffee. Print copies. Pretend to be busy doing some bullshit task while you surf the web. But then there’s internships where you are actually treated like a pledge, which is the unfortunate case with our friend Price Hamilton.

Part I

It’s Monday morning, 6:30 a.m…

Still Monday morning, 6:45 a.m. First day of the internship. I mean, thanks, Dad, for pulling those strings and getting me in, but there is a laundry list of things I’d rather be doing this summer; Sarah, Brooke, cocaine, keg stands, etc.

Start driving to the office, shit, where is it?

“Siri, you bitch, where the fuck is the office?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t find any results for, ‘Jewish, where the duck pond is.’”

Why don’t any women understand me?

Finally get to the office at 8. Not sure what that 9-5 bullshit is about, but I guess I don’t get a part of it as an intern.

I walk in, BOOM, hot secretary at the front desk. The size:perkiness ratio of her breasts defied physics like that chick in the Robin Thicke video’s tits. Wondering if that’ll be blocked on company computers…

“Hi I’m Price Hamilton, the new intern.”

Smiling she responds, “Oh, you must be Junior. I’m Terri.”

Goddammit, don’t call me “Junior!” I hate that shit.

“Ha, yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you,” but in my head that sounded like, “I fully plan on attempting shameless sexual advances directed towards you multiple times throughout the summer. And I WILL succeed.”

“Well here, let me introduce you to the intern coordinator.”

We walk down a hallway and come to a door, name plate says, “Gerald Heiser.” She turns to me, “He’s in there, suggest you knock first. I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks,” I thought about giving her the good ole slap on the ass goodbye, but she was already an awkward distance away and it would have looked like I was trying too hard. I’ve got ten weeks to put the smash on, it’ll happen.

I knock twice, wait half a second, then walk in. I was fully expecting to see some wiry framed, pants pulled up to his belly button, thick glasses, bowl cut nerd waiting to greet me. I was wrong.

This motherfucker looked like he was in the Marines. Built like a truck, arms that would put even the ‘roided out brother in my chapter to shame (he’s cut, no homo), plus a salt and pepper mustache that rivaled Tom Selleck.

“You must be the new intern.”

The new intern? I’m your bosses son. “Yeah that’s me.”

“I think you mean, ‘Yes, sir.’”

“Um, ok, sorry. Yesss, sssir.”

“How about I show you around the office?”

“Sounds good to me.”

He leads me to the door. As I’m about to walk out, I’m all of the sudden surrounded by darkness. The motherfucker hooded me. Like a goddam pledge. He yanks me back inside, throws me to the floor. I hear the door lock.

“Bows and toes.”


“Are you FUCKING hard of hearing?!” he screams at full volume.

This man’s vocal cords sound like they’re made of steel rods. I quickly, out of instinct, assume the classic hazee position.

The hood gets removed. The only light in the room is one red candle lit below my chin.

“I don’t know who you think you are. I don’t give a shit where you come from. I have no reason to think that you weren’t a failed attempt at pulling-out on formal weekend, so you listen here you little cumstain. I’m going to say this once and only once. Whatever I say goes. I tell you to do something, you do it. If another employee tells you to do something, you fucking do it. You will refer to me as ‘Sir’ and only ‘Sir.’ Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”


“Good. Now get up,” I stand up and the lights turn back on. What the fuck is happening right now. I know that interns are the office bitches but is this guy serious? “I’ll take you to the intern work area.”

He leads me to a room in a back corner. One table, one lightbulb, and an intercom. Two other horrified interns are there.

“Welcome to your internship, gentlemen, it’s going to be a fun summer.”

What have I gotten into…

To Be Continued…


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