Intern Chick

My introduction to the music industry at my 1st internship was liquor in the filing cabinets rather than real files, executives rolling into work, hungover and passing out on the leather couch, and errands that involved buying underwear, coffee, cologne, and jewelry for my boss. But there's one errand I will never forget.

You know how sometimes, you don’t mind talking to strangers because your iPod is dead and you can’t call your friends because they’re at work? Or how sometimes you meet somebody and think they’re perfectly normal, and then you see them a 2nd time and you can’t believe how many red flags you missed during the first meeting? And then you realize they are certifiably crazy?

A while back, I was riding the train home and a businessman sat down next to me. He seemed upset and agitated, and all it took was one connection of eye contact and he opened the floodgates on me. He was blabbering about which cars platform at which stops and was he in the right car. I can see all too clearly now this was a trap. I assured him he was in the right place and thought I’d done my good deed for the day. But no, he wants to talk.

He’s in his 40’s. He has kids my sister’s age. A boy and a girl.

Oh, so he’s a dad? Dad’s are totally fine, you can’t be creepy when you’re a dad, it’s in the rule book!
He’s divorced. His wife got the Barbados timeshare in the divorce.

You can definitely be creepy when you’re divorced and you tell people on the train about how it went down. Kids or no kids.
By this point it was time to get off the train so I said goodbye and thought that was it. But that would be too easy. You know how in college when you’re roommate hooks up with the crazy frat boy you’ve never seen before, and then you guys see him all over campus and at all your favorite bars? I keep seeing this man on the train. Sometimes I’m lucky and he doesn’t see me, other times I swear he’s been standing there all day waiting for me. God has been good for the past month, though, and I haven’t seen him. I’d hoped he’d stopped riding the train and was seeing someone about his creepy-ness. For all I cared he could be in Barbados with the wife and kids, working on a reconciliation.

So when I strolled into Grand Central at 10 PM last night the last thing I was expecting to see was this guy, standing there in his glasses and suit, goofy smile on his face, holding an umbrella in one hand and his briefcase in the other, arms outstretched for a hug he’ll be waiting for forever. I just stood there, dumbfounded. I was convinced that an aspiring Ashton Kutcher would pop out and tell me I’d been Punk’d, Grand Central style. No such luck. I continued to stand there, and I thought about my options. I could make a run for it. I could stare blankly and pretend I was Intern Chick’s evil twin. Before I could make a final decision, the words “What are you doing here” shot out of my mouth. I had about 15 minutes before the train was leaving, so I stuttered out some story about buying a water and going to the bathroom and see you later. I took my seat on the train and hoped for the best. I put my iPod on and shut my eyes, praying he’d walk right past me. I opened my eyes to see him getting ready to sit in the seat next to me, panting, sweat dripping down his freckled face. I told myself I just had to get through an hour and a half of nonsense, maybe I could just let him talk and nod my head every once in a while.
But of course, he wanted to talk up a storm—he had a hurricane of questions for me. He wants to know if I’ve been ignoring him. Can you do that when you have only ridden a train together and don’t have each other’s phone numbers or e-mails or anything? He says he was hoping we could be friends, he told his work buddies about the day we were on the same train but different cars and I literally ran to my car to avoid him. He let me know he was upset.

I sat up and looked around for that camera crew and Ashton Kutcher wannabe. Still no luck. There’s no way this guy was for real. Maybe he had me mixed up with some other girl he’s bothered, I mean met, on the train. So I asked him. Hey, I had nothing to lose at this point. That was a mistake. Apparently he does this all the time; he had a stock pile of stories to tell me about people he’s met on the train, to and from work. Why is it that all the creepers latch on to me? I’m not even that nice.
As we got closer to my stop I realized something. It was nearing midnight, the parking lot is pitch black, and this guy was probably parked near me. I weighed the two evils, do I ditch this guy and walk alone in the parking lot, hoping he won’t go crazy and come after me, or do I play nice so that I’m not alone. I should clarify here that this guy isn’t creepy as in criminal creepy. He’s more like creepy as in he is a fumbling mess and doesn’t know the social signals for, “I don’t want to chat anymore.” There was no way for me to get away, so we walked to our cars. He was blabbering so much he walked right past his own car, unless that was another one of his ploys, I can’t say I doubt that. I unlocked my car doors and sat down and shut the door as soon as possible, waving from the inside with a smile on my face. Score 1 for Intern Chick. Seriously, what are the chances?

I was dreading the train ride home all day today, hoping I wouldn’t have a repeat of yesterday. I got on a late train again, sat down in my seat and turned my back to the aisle. I watched each passenger walk by and counted down the minutes until the train would leave. I busied myself on my laptop writing this blog and kept my head down. I breathed a sigh of relief when someone sat down next to me, and can happily say I have not seen him today. I’ve decided next time I see him I’m going to tell him some crazy story, I haven’t decided what yet. Maybe that I’m getting married, or that I’m taking a vow of silence for the next three months, or that I’m wearing a bug and the government will come after him if we converse. I can say I’ve learned my lesson and your parents had good reason for it when you were little—DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS!!

I grumpily got on the train Friday morning, armed with my iPod and the newest edition of VOGUE.  My interview was scheduled for 1:00, the earlier train got into New York at 11:40, the later train got in at 12:40, which wasn't enough time to get to where I needed to be.  So I got to Grand Central at 11:40 and sat for almost an hour until it was time to head over to the West side.  I arrived at the office building about 10 minutes early, and stepped off the elevator on the 5th floor, taking the twists and turns until I found the suite I was looking for.  I noticed that all the other offices had fancy gold plates with their company name on it.  The one I was interviewing for just had the company name printed on a piece of computer paper (at least it wasn't hand written, right?).  This is where I'd like say that Red Flag #1 was waving wilding in my face.