Girl Scout Cookies

There comes a time in every girl's life when you must simply settle down with a box of girl scout cookies. It doesn't matter where--it could be holed up in a back room at your office, curled up in bed, or even outside today bundled against the rain clouds. And it doesn't matter what kind, either--Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Cinna Spins, Daisy Go Rounds--just as long as it's your favorite.

 

Today, I am choosing the first of both categories, enjoying a box of Thin Mints in an area in our office we call the Dungeon. The Dungeon is a room buried deep in the Capitol where no one will ever hear the screams of the unbearably bored or ruthlessly used interns trapped there every day of the week. It's decorated in cheap wood paneling, cracked-leather chairs, a lamp with a hat as a lamp shade, and posters/magazine pages/receipts that are a tribute to the boredom and frustration of interns past.

 

The need for the girl scout cookies arose from a series of events, not all of which happened in this room, but perhaps were exacerbated by it. I shall call it: The Great Signature Fiasco. The Fiasco began mundanely enough, with one of my bosses giving one of the interns an assignment, which was passed on to me. "We need to get this signed by the gov. No rush, though." It's not a difficult task to walk up and obtain the signature, which I promptly would have done if A) my foot wasn't broken and B) two of my bosses hadn't promptly given me five separate assignments to handle. I work work work, naturally, but then another bomb is dropped--I have to attend a meeting in which I must stand on one foot for three hours to take notes.

 

Thus, at the end of the day, when I stayed late to observe the entirety of the meeting, the letter was not signed.

 

And as I'm only part-time and did not work the next day, it continued forth in its unsigned status.

 

One intern trivia night, many shots, and a whole lot of drama later, we have finally moved past it. I got the whole story from one of my fellow interns when we met up last night to lose magnificently in a trivia game. They couldn't find the paper that was sitting on my desk waiting to be signed, our boss springs a previously unannounced and extremely short deadline for the signature, the interns frantically rush around to obtain it from an autopen that had been shut down for the day, finally find the gov, and have the signed letter ready for our boss, who then determinedly strikes out at every intern in the office for our collective unintelligence. There were things said I dare not repeat, things not usually said to high achievers of the caliber of these governor's interns. Things easily dismissed in retrospective, but that during the lecture may or may not have induced a deep, entrenched dislike that all of the interns now feel. Including me, today.

 

Thus the need for girl scout cookies.