Preface: This post is a little weird because it’s literally all in my head (or exactly what I was thinking/ feeling that day).
This is such a struggle. I walk up the marble steps and in through gold trimmed doors. Wait. First, the metal detectors. First time? Shoes off. Jewelry off. Coat off. Sweater off. Underwear off—at least that’s where I felt the final destination might be. Step to the lady security guard. She gets to feel me up for a mini bomb or gun that I don’t have. I mean, I guess they always have to check.; It is the Rayburn Congressional office building.
Down the tomb-like hall—which literally looks like every other hallway. Take the elevator to 4th floor. Palms sweaty. Check my phone three times to find the time hasn’t changed. Look at the man in his nice suit as he presses the 2nd floor button. I wonder if he’s a Congressman? Oh god. I really have to pee. Walk down another tomb-like hallway. I wonder if I look like I’m in high school. I think I look old for my age, but I feel as if I have a stamp marked on my forehead that screams: “this one is new.”
Walk through the massive office doors as tall as the ceiling. The blue carpet is nice; almost makes the office feel warm (instead of an arctic tundra like the hall). A nice young lady asks me if I’m the new intern. I smile and pray three times that my voice doesn’t shake or crack when I speak. Lost cause. My vocal cords are all over the place. She leads me to a desk. Phone. Computer. Copy of the New York Times.
I’m asked to go over new bills and legislation for inconsistencies—after I finish sorting the mail. (Sorry constituents; your letters may have went in the trash.) Nothing makes sense. It’s all an inconsistency. The words are too big and the sentences a little too complex. I avoid the legal section like the plague. After seeing the first page, I save it for last. My brain hurts. After stalling in the photo section of the NYT, viewing every slide show from fashion to exotic homes, I go back to the legal section. I only make it four lines before giving up again. I instead start a list of all the other places I’d like to be—like on vacation, my bed, the coffee shop down the street. Maybe even the bathroom.
I never finish the legal sections of the legislation. I slip it back on my supervisor’s desk with random scribbles and question marks. I just can’t finish it. I even manage to take a 20 minute nap after completing my list. I feel like the laziest person ever, but honestly, I am never going to make it through that thing without a greater sense of willpower, caffeine (or interest in the material) than I currently possess. Again, lost cause. Back to the Times. Maybe I’ll just take a long lunch. They won’t miss me. Wait. I’m a horrible intern. Maybe I’ll ask to pre-read more of the Congressman’s mail. Yeah, I’ll do that; some constituent author just sent an advanced copy of his book. It looks terrible.
I still didn’t see the evidence.