THE ENFANTS TERRIBLES OF
PUBLISHING Where did all the good interns go?
Ah,
interns. We've all been them, xeroxing the second or third copies of unneeded
files which may or may not be reviewed by the publisher's assistant before being
put into long-term storage. It can often be a thankless role, which most perform
in exchange for the dubious "college credit" or the even-more-dubious
"experience". But you've got to pay your dues sometime, and there's
really no better way to (kind of...) get your foot in the door. But what about
the people who hire them? What do they think of the next generation? This week's
Bitch is from an editor who's sick of the space cadets and brats.
—BY
S.S.—
My magazine (a monthly city mag
for a large midwestern city) sources interns from local colleges & universities.
Admittedly, this ain't Vanity Fair. But interns usually get to write,
meaning they'll have their byline in a nice, glossy magazine with a respectable
circulation. And do you know what? I LIKE interns. They can be fun, cool and
helpful. And God knows we've all done our time in Intern-land.
But lately I've found myself forced to choose
between two types of candidates: space cadets and brats. Last week I interviewed
a girl who insisted that she CANNOT live without writing features; yet later
admitted that she doesn't really read magazines -- other than TV Guide. Plus
she used the word "dude" three times in the interview, and not in
reference to any type of ranch vacation she had recently taken.
This type of unsophisticated gaffe can be forgiven.
What I cannot forgive is the sense of entitlement some kids carry with them.
Our office sits right smack on top of a college campus, and I see examples of
this all the time: the snarly students in the coffeehouse next door, the crybabies
that poach our parking spots and then get indignant about getting blocked in.
This crazed behavior has become quite pronounced in our interns.
This is best illustrated by what has come to
be known around the office as the "Who vomited?" episode, where one
intern (who admittedly was not in the best of favor to begin with) told an editor
her lunch smelled like vomit, and then INSISTED on knowing the ingredients of
the dish. This resulted in the editor famously replying, "It's puke. I
eat PUKE for lunch." The intern stormed out of the office, saying she couldn't
be expected to work in "such an environment." When she returned the
following week she was surprised to find that we had in fact canned her ass.
It goes on: an intern's father called the office
and told us his son was bored. Another, when asked what she liked about working
at the magazine, replied "...I'll have to get back to you on that."
One girl came to work dressed in things like skin-tight pink pants and an off-the
shoulder top and walked around with NO SHOES ON—earning the nickname "Daisy
Mae"—then flirted shamelessly with the managing editor while complaining
about his "advances" behind his back. Another intern told me that
my move from a trade publishing firm to a city mag was "a step down."
The best part is when these people call months later and brightly ask for a
letter of reference—even when they were told, point blank, that their behavior
was APPALLING.
What is up? What happened to "doing time," as
it were, at the bottom of the food chain? I wish I could hand out a blanket
statement at recruiting events and interviews: "Dear prospective intern:
Just because you have spent a summer doing 'promotions' (handing out Mentos
at a rib burn-off) does not mean you will vaulted to the top of anyone's masthead
anytime soon. Please relax about that and we will get along just fine."
