Today was my first day working as an intern in an advertising agency in SLC(Punk!). I'm not going to lie - I love it so far. There's lots of work and only one other writer, so I'm definitely being tossed into the deep end without having put on my inner tube or other flotation equipment. Radio spots and retail body copy are dancing in my head like effervescent bubbles in the bottom of an Alka-Seltzer'd glass. I also have the following waiting for me in the wings: interactive body copy and packaging copy.
Everyone was quite nice and they mostly seemed apprised of my coming, because each person I was introduced to warned me of all the work they had in store for me. It was good though. There's some huge talent in this shop. I'm really stoked to be a part of it. I hope I can deliver at the level they're expecting...I want to impress them and I also wouldn't mind a proper job offer after these next three months pass.
But, the most important information of the day: reading material in the men's room. I was disappointed to find that the tank was decked with nothing but car magazines. There was no varied selection. Not even multiple publications - just several issues of the same title. I'll have to upload a photo, so that you can fully appreciate the dispair I felt.
Note to self - bring in some alternative reading material. Maybe a Transworld Skateboarding mag. A music 'zine could be good too. Maybe a novella or something. (David Sedaris' short stories would be nice. Perfect in fact, since he's actually written a story about a turd at a cocktail party...I mean, the turd wasn't attending the party...It was lain in the toilet by one of the guests...nevermind, just forget it.)
Also, my chucks were stolen and someone made fun of my skinny jeans. I guess they weren't skinny enough. (My massive bank of emoticons is on the fritz these days, but I'm sure you can imagine a rather distraught yellow globe, maybe one with fountains of tears coming from its eyes and pooling around its limbless body, following the previous sentence.)
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