Trial and error in rite of passage
What a week it has been since I left you last. My dad has finally gone out on his own and opened up an automotive restoration shop in Lewisville, Joe’s Garage, opening soon. The whole family ordered pizzas and helped him move in on a late Sunday afternoon.
My little sister is applying for college. I finally talked her into applying to my university, High Point University (Go Panthers!). She has been working on her essay with the prompt: my greatest concerns. I don’t know why she chose that one. I remember in high school my greatest concerns were nothing my college admissions department wanted to hear about. I was more concerned with girls and cars, not volunteering and getting an education like her. I’m proud of her. I hope she gets the same thing out of college I have gotten, and that leads me to my third and biggest change I have experienced this week, starting my senior year. I began my last first day ever on Wednesday. It is crazy to consider myself an adult. I have one more year before my life does a complete 180. I will have to do the usual: either move in back home and work for dad for the time being or hump it to support my own crappy apartment for a while. I am going to have to find a new job and probably a lot of new friends since High Point University is made up of a lot of Northerners. So I have to make sure I make this year count because I sure as hell am not going to grad school.
Along with the beginning of my end in college I have begun to end something else, my internship here at YES! Weekly. I have started my cover story that will mark my last bit of work as an intern. I still remember a few months ago when I was visiting a high school friend for dinner with his parents. They had just returned from the wine festival in Winston-Salem and had met someone from the paper. They suggested I call, and at this point I thought I had no more hope left of finding a summer internship but I placed the call anyway. I had already been to Mooresville and spent several full days traveling from one NASCAR race shop to another until they all knew my name. I was looking for an internship with a PR department at a race team. I had re-worked my resume several times and passed out enough copies to kill a rainforest, all with no luck. Finally, after calling, I got someone on the phone who seemed promising: the editor, Brian Clarey. I walked in with my resume firmly in hand and handed it to him. He didn’t even look at it just tossed it on his desk. I sat and wondered why he didn’t read the resume like so many others, as he drilled me with questions. And finally the words, “Well, you don’t look like a dumbass,” left his mouth as I laughed in disbelief of meeting someone so professional yet so frank. And that concluded our rough interview.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into and probably did not want to know either. I have done everything from babysitting to fashion photography.
I organized the closet full of back issues (it was actually a nice workout). I was a beer taster (I had no idea what I was tasting — I’m only old enough to buy it not old enough to understand it). I was a designated driver, that’s always fun. I was a VIP at clubs when I had a camera in my hand because everyone loves the media. I had a chance to test drive a Lamborghini — missed it, but I did get to ride a scooter. I was a political columnist with no idea what I was doing. I was a food and art writer, but I had a better idea about the food than the art. Oh, and I only screwed up once. Sorry Greene Street.
I had the chance to learn from some of the best and that’s not just kissing ass. There is the news editor, Jordan Green, who reminds me of Clark Kent and I refer to him as a machine when it comes to journalism; Brian Clarey who is my boss and the one proofreading this, so he is
the most handsome man I have worked with (ed. note: That’s the best sentence you’ve written all summer); the extremely talented Amy Kingsley who has honestly taught me a lot working here, she has watched my back and laughed at my occasional awkward jokes I make when I have no idea what’s going on; there is Charles the money man, who I have seen make more deals than Donald Trump; Kenny the one I steal photography equipment from when I try to do some shooting; Chris the designer, who changes the background on his computer about every day; and of course the beautiful ladies up front who cause me to check my hair in the reflection of the front door before I walk in. So you will hear my words again soon but for now this will be my official send off as an intern and as a teenager pretending to be an adult.
To comment on this story, e-mail Jesse Kiser at firstname.lastname@example.org.