Would You Like a Side of Chili With That Baby?

I’m spiffed up more than usual today for a luncheon being hosted for all the company's out-going interns. They’re making sort of a to-do about it and all the big-wigs and managers will be there. We even received little invitations to our cubicles and everything. Word around the water-cooler, however, is that the menu for this soiree is hot dogs and chili. I swear, only in the South. I mean, that’s fine and all, but at least call it a cook-out and let us wear cut-offs and show up barefoot, for goodness sake. If, or I should say when, I spill ketchup on my new silk blouse I’m going to be miffed. I'm supposed to get up and give a short spiel about myself and what I’ve done here this summer, highlights, etc. Should I lie or should I say that my summer was spent hole punching 50,000 pages of pleadings and surfing the internet? I’m just not feeling very celebratory yet since most of the other interns’ last day is tomorrow, but mine isn’t for another week. Sadly, the Brazilians returned to their homeland last week and did not take me with them. The gym just hasn’t been the same without our stolen glances between treadmills. Sigh.

Lastly, just because if I don’t let this out I’m going to spontaneously combust, a special message to the career services office: Do y’all realize you’ve taken years off my life!? And not the toothless, drooling senile years either! Put down the baby flesh you’re snacking on and do your damn job!