An epic tale of summer interns

Little remains now of the once-robust intern culture that dominated the new media office during the summer era. But this one nearly intact artifact was discovered .4 metres below surface in grid sector p-14. —Dale Hobson,–new media archaeologist.

 

It was said all good things come in threes, yet their number
     stands at four.
Equipped with the skill of language, and adobe programs,
These girls, not yet acquainted, were unaware of what awaited.
Adventures exclusive to public radio they soon embarked.

Oh Ellen, muse of public radio and delicious baked goods,
Sing to us now of summer interns’ voyage through sound waves,
Tell us of the mountains scaled, cows milked and zombies unleashed,
Unwieldy computer mouses, podcasts, and lengthy transcriptions.

The meeting room finds our four heroes sitting, circled, bated breath.
More experienced reporters, hardened by truth’s pursuit,
Surround our four rising stars, asking for progress reports.
With much glee, they begin, the journey of summer travels relived.

Monique, born under Gemini, and clear master of the haiku,
Workers of two jobs and possessor of truly great hair,
Can see herself dating a star, perhaps one hit wonder.
Known for exciting reporting skills and her sassy Facebook comments.

“A mere week ago, under the fury of opened storm clouds
I bore witness to a miraculous birth, baby calf.
In the fine name of journalism, urine of a cow
Boldly ventured to places unknown. Namely, inside of my mouth. “

“Why are you talking in verse?” Martha raises a skeptical brow,
As Monique strikes a pose. Over thirty years’ experience,
Reveals it’s not in her nature to put up with office antics.
All turn towards the next intern, hair like fields of strawberries, she spake.

Claire embarks on her second trip around the sun with NCPR.
The veteran and commander of the humble Facebook page.
Always fashionable in stripes, floral, or witty tees,
Ever willing to give educated movie or album review.

“With a happy heart, I proclaim that from my hand I have penned 10,
Inspiring blog posts before the sun has reached its zenith.”
One of the most prolific artists of all time is she.
From dog parks to American Girl dolls, on her the public relies.

“Even as a poet, I cannot follow if you keep speaking,
In verse,” Dale slouches menacingly from his swivel chair.
“Finish those APs and transcribe the garden conversation.”
Nearly deaf, the poet does not deter our heroes, they continue.

Kelly, eater of both breakfast and lunch before 11:00 am,
Lurks in the deepest of corners at the fine NCPR.
Often attacked by the AC and the sass of fellow interns,
A Lorde scholar dressed in J.Crew, with a degree in Harry Potter.

“My journalistic ventures have led me to the depths of the web.
Oh wise colleagues, my mind is saturated by TED talks,
and Benedict Cumberbatch. To close, I will quote the great,
late Albus Dumbledore, ‘Merlin’s beard, lower the AC, I am freezing.”

Kelly, everyone else in the office is warm.” Says Nora, robed,
Entirely in black, like a secret. The infant in her arms,
Nods empathically. Constant bring your child to work day.
“Now stop being vague and too detailed. Let’s listen to Natalie.”

Natalie, a self-proclaimed old soul, baffled by most computers,
A poet whose skill surpasses even that of James Franco.
Often suffers the misfortune of typing long transcriptions
A skilled chef, once had her remote control attached to a brick.

“Food is mother earth’s sign of love for me. Except for tomatoes.
For my aged cheese soul, the internetz holds much mystery,
Yet I find myself an expert at WORD transcriptions.
Amy Ivy, is a favorite for growth in the garden of my life.

Natasha and David, one baffled, one alarmed, like spooked children.
With good fortune, Ellen, Muse and overseer enters. David gestures,
“Ellen these girls are insane,” “What do you mean?” incredulous,
This is an absolute riot. Everyone try these croissants I just made.”

The power of croissants, forged from both cinnamon and chocolate,
A peace offering between both parties, experienced and novice,
Merging as a collective truth seeking unit. Office mascot, Mugsy, agrees,
Yet is disgruntled at his lack of a chocolate croissant.

Thus ends the tale of our heroes four. Those brave interns who wake,
Early hours for justice and good reporting. Battling,
APs and podcast, traversing transcriptions. With joyous hearts we know,
Public radio marks the beginning of their truly epic adventures.