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Internships have this magical ability to turn you into a coffee connoisseur against your will. Suddenly, you're expected to know the difference between a flat white and a cortado. I don't know about you, but I just want a cup of caffeine that doesn't taste like regret. And then there's the office gossip. Interns are like the secret agents of the workplace, gathering intel on who's dating who and who stole someone's lunch from the fridge. I felt like James Bond with a spreadsheet, fighting office injustice one passive-aggressive email at a time.
But the real espionage? The battle for the last slice of birthday cake in the breakroom. It's like a scene from a spy thriller—only with more frosting and fewer explosions.
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Internships sell you this dream of career advancement, but let's be real, it's more like a game of snakes and ladders. You climb up the corporate ladder, thinking you're making progress, and then suddenly, you land on a snake called "budget cuts" and slide right back to the bottom. I had this mentor who promised to guide me through the maze of my career. Turns out, he was more like a GPS that constantly recalculates. "In 100 feet, make a U-turn and reconsider your life choices."
And can we talk about the "opportunities for growth" they dangle in front of you like a carrot on a stick? It's like telling a plant it has the opportunity to grow if it just survives the drought, the pests, and the occasional office herbicide.
In the end, internships are like the appetizer of adulthood. You get a taste of the real world, but you're left hungry for something more substantial. So here's to all the interns out there—may your coffee be strong, your gossip be juicy, and your career path have fewer snakes and more ladders.
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You ever notice how internships are basically the Hunger Games of the corporate world? You walk in there, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, thinking you're Katniss Everdeen of the office. But no, turns out you're more like the sacrificial lamb. I had this internship once where my main responsibility seemed to be making coffee. I mean, seriously? I didn't spend four years in college and go into student loan debt to become a glorified barista. I felt like a coffee-making wizard—except my magic wand was a Keurig, and my spell was called "venti latte."
And don't even get me started on the office politics. It's like high school all over again, but with more power suits and less acne. I was trying to navigate the treacherous waters of who to befriend and who to avoid. It's like trying to find your way through a maze blindfolded while everyone else has a GPS.
But the worst part? The dress code. Who decided that business casual was a good idea? I want to meet that person and ask them, "Have you ever tried squeezing your soul into a pair of khakis?" It's like trying to contain a wild animal in a cage—it just doesn't work.
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Internships are like a secret society, and no one tells you about the unspoken hazing rituals. I walked in on my first day, thinking I was about to join the Avengers, and instead, I found myself in the middle of an initiation ceremony. They send you on these impossible missions, like finding the left-handed screwdriver or the key to the executive washroom. I swear, I spent an entire afternoon searching for the CEO's lost sense of humor. Spoiler alert: I didn't find it.
And what's with the initiation tasks that are basically just a test of your ability to endure humiliation? One day, they handed me a rubber chicken and told me to perform a stand-up routine in the breakroom. I felt like a stand-up comedian at a really dysfunctional poultry-themed comedy club.
But the worst part? They make you participate in team-building exercises that are about as effective as trying to build a sandcastle during high tide. I mean, nothing says "team bonding" like trust falls and awkward group hugs. I'd rather bond over a pizza party, thank you very much.
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