Entry Level Judges Your Intellect (aka Intern vs The Map)

As a representative of the entry level, you have had the distinct pleasure of watching interns come and go.  Semester after semester. Year after year. They grow up, graduate and move on to bigger and better things; while you, my friend, remain in the exact same place.

It's sad. I know. Kind of makes you want to find your professional jollies wherever you can. Right?

Luckily, in addition to making you feel stuck, misguided and old; interns are always good for this too.  Because the fact is... no matter how deflated you've become since you entered the workforce... no matter how many pegs you've been knocked down... That old intellect of yours is still in there somewhere... And you can still judge those who clearly don't have any.

That brings me back to my original point: Interns.  This particular intellect judgment moment was brought to us by my summer intern, his lack of knowledge about U.S. geography and his lack of sense that one should not wonder about stupid geographical musings aloud.

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Intern vs. The Map

It was a sticky August afternoon around 3pm. Just the time of day, when your lunch is starting to kick in and you find yourself searching for excuses to get up and move, so that you won't fall asleep at your desk.  Luckily for me, my intern was feeling that way too. So, he pulled himself up out of his chair with a groan and sauntered over to the huge U.S. map on the wall of our office.  You know, the one right behind the boss's chair. 

He proceeded to stare at said map for an exceedingly long time. Five full minutes or so. Too long. This was no longer a front. Something was up. So, I - the entry leveler in shining armor, as per usual - decided to step in and see what the problem was.  The following conversation ensued:

Me: Hey, Dan. Whatcha lookin' at?

Dan: Did you know that Atlantic City's not in Atlanta?!

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Now, there are only three more things you need to know:

1. His name wasn't really Dan.

2. He was totally serious.

3. I judged him. Hard.

Evolution of an Academic Overachiever

Today's submission comes to us from an entry level worker in a prestigious DC consulting firm. Oh, how I wish this glimpse into his day didn't ring so true.

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"2 years ago -- completed a senior thesis using a time-lagged linear regression model to determine variances in defense spending based upon the political party of the president

today -- remembered to book a conference room for an extra 15 minutes at the end so people could enjoy the leftover catering"

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Well done, sir. Pat yourself on the back. No, wait a second. Don't.

The Nickname Trap

As an entry level worker, you’re probably familiar with the hazards of the phone system. It does, after all, fall within your job description to make all that ringing cease. So, you better be fast and you better be savvy ; because, when four phone lines are ringing and your bosses aren’t making any moves to pick up the receiver themselves, your excuse of only having two hands (or two ears) simply will not suffice.

Divide and conquer, my friend. Divide. And. Conquer.

First, you must master all of the tricks available to you on your phone console. That means: conferencing, transferring, overhead paging… You need to be able to do that shit in your sleep because there is simply no time to think about finger movements when those menacing little red lights are popping up like bed bugs all over your phone bed. How many times must you hit the conference button? And on which lines? Must you open a new line? Do you need to hit conference, before transfer? Which numbers dial up the office intercom? And should you hit any keys first to grab people’s attention? Please take notes. There will be a test.

Next, you must learn to quickly identify which calls are of high importance and which calls are not. Please note that excelling in school has not prepared you for this duty. No, unfortunately, this skill falls entirely under the realm of street smarts and it is easier said than done.  You either have them or you don’t.

For example, you might think that anyone close to your boss is of the utmost importance. And that is true, but there is nuance involved. Surely, no one wants to be the entry level worker bee who picks up a call from “Betty”, requesting to speak with your boss, Mr. Smith… and you ask with whom she is calling… or what this call is regarding… or, even worse, “Betty who?”… only to be scolded, “BETTY SMITH, HIS WIFE.”

But, at the same time, we entry levelers must be wary. The higher up your boss is, the more talented the people calling them will be at mimicking importance. That brings us to today’s legend. It comes to us from Zach, an entry level worker at a prestigious biotech company… who was tasked with manning the phones… on a dark and stormy night, when his admin was out. Take it away, Zach.

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“They made me answer phones for the day, but no one ever calls except for internal people from the hq office. So, I figured it’d be okay, until I got a call from some woman who said she was a friend of "Kathy." (The brilliant, but terrifying Vice President of my office is named Kathleen. She holds degrees from Stanford and Harvard. She’s a tough Irish Catholic executive. And she’s written Congressional acts that have been signed into law. Anybody calling her by the nickname of “Kathy” had to be important.) And I was like, oh shit better patch her through right away. 

So, I successfully transfer her over (which is a big accomplishment because that shit is not taught in econ stats). And I'm thinking I'm doing alright.

5 minutes later, "Kathy" walks into my cube, says in a completely bone chilling monotone voice, “Don't ever fucking do that again,” and walks out before I can say anything.

Turns out I had transferred through some random political fundraiser, trying to guilt trip biotech execs into giving money by posing as their friends.

I had to run after her, apologizing and begging her not to fire me. And, for the rest of the day, I told anyone who called that Kathleen was in a meeting and would call them back."

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Ouch, Zach. You’ve fallen victim to the nickname trap. Welcome to the entry level.

Entry Level vs. The Copier

As an entry level worker, you know the copier. It’s that clunky, tan, 80’s relic in the hallway by the bathroom. It’s that unavoidable part of your morning routine, making organizational documents for the higher-ups. And it’s that permanent fixture in your nightmares, as well.

Why? Well, depending on its mood, the copier can either be your friend or foe. Let me explain.

Friend: You’re young. You’re hip. You’re down with all the new technology. So, just a few quick clicks and you’re collating, stapling, printing on both sides… book style, calendar style… It’s Nbd for you, generation Y-er.  That copier’s your bitch.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Wait. What?

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Did you hear someth-?

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Oh shit. I guess that brings me to my next point.

Foe: Your bosses are on a deadline. They need 100 copies of this packet pronto and you’re just the man for the job, you copier stud you. Well, that is… you’re just the man for the job, until the copier jams. Then, I suppose, the man for the job would be a copier repairman.

But, unfortunately, your workplace doesn’t have a copier repairman on staff and, as the resident lowest man on the totem pole, you’re expected to behave as such. What’s that? Your ivy league education didn’t prepare you to get elbow-deep in copier grease? That’s too bad.

And so, we all sit and pray for the holy grail of the entry level: an intern, to whom we might outsource all of our most menial duties.

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Today’s legend has these very parameters: an outsourcing entry level worker, an intern and a copier from hell. It comes to us from a coworker of mine, who escaped the entry level long ago, but has clearly not forgotten where he came from. His timeless story is copied below:

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“I was working the Assignment Desk one morning and we had some peripheral relative of a Congressman interning there.  So, when we had to turn out the Assignment Grids, I passed the job to him.  And sure enough, like clockwork - the thing craps out like, 70  copied & stapled grids into the job.  I'm unaware of any of this and just happen to be walking in that general direction, when I hear an "Ohhhhh FUUUUUUUUUUUCK" from around the corner.

I walk out and it's the intern on his knees with his head in his hands, staring into the opened-up bowels of this piece-of-shit copier.  Turns out he'd found the jam in the main central doohicky of the machine, but wasn't sure what to do.  So he'd grabbed the only tool he could find - a plastic fork - to try and fix the jam.  But the doohicky was already so damn hot from 2x-side copying, stapling, and collating 70  12-page grids that the fork instantly MELTED INTO THE DOOHICKY.  Now not only was the bureau waiting on his grids, but he'd just transformed a giant piece of company equipment from a frustrating, habitually-jamming nuisance into a completely unusable waste of space.

We had to call in the boys from the copier service to come clean that shit out. And, afterward, all of the entry levels and interns got a note from the boss, making clear that no one was to stick plastic utensils into heavy machinery that was warm to the touch.

Fuckin' entry level.

That kid's probably a state senator now."

The Art of Balancing Personalities

When entering the entry level, one of the first things you must master is the art of acting as liason between the personalities around you.

Chances are: there are going to be some big ones. And it is your job to determine which of these are the biggest, the most egocentric, the most menacing... which are mostly bark and which bite... which will have you crying wolf and which will have you just plain old crying.

The art of balancing personalities may not be part of your actual job description. It's more an issue of self-preservation. So, let me put it this way: If you value your life, you will start figuring this shit out now. Seriously. What are you waiting for? Go.

 Most of your bosses will consider themselves God's gift. But notice that the word "gift" there is singular. It's mutually exclusive. They can't all be God's gift. Because I'm pretty sure God didn't give that many people as gifts, who weren't named Jesus. And I'm pretty sure that, even if he did, he didn't put them all in your office.

So, it looks like you have a problem on your hands. You must separate their versions of reality from the actual one... and quickly.

So, when it comes down to crunch time and you have 5 assignments... from 5 different bosses... who each think they are the most important... and their assignment is the most pressing...

When it's ten minutes until showtime and you get a call from a director... wanting to talk to a writer... and the writer says she has no time to talk because the show cannot write itself... and the director says, "Get her on the fucking phone"... and the writer says, "Ask him what he wants"...

You don't actually pick up the phone and say to most-probably-the-biggest-personality-you-will-ever-meet-in-the-world, "She wants to know what you want."

Because THAT is what happened to the intern sitting next to me yesterday. She is relatively new. She did not know.

Now, there are few times that you can pat yourself on the back for being an entry-level worker ant, but that was one time that I did. Because at least I've been around long enough to know that you do. not. repeat. everything. you. are. told.  Because at least I didn't have to endure the earful that she got after that comment. Because I may be entry level, but at least I'm not an intern.

And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.

An entry-level couple overheard planning a dinner party

Girl: I think we should throw together a dinner party this weekend. I'm really good at making pizzas. I just wish we had access to a brick oven.

Boy: Well, I don't know about a brick oven, but I could hook you up with a dutch oven.

Entry Level Male Takes on the Entry Level Microwave

This weekend, my friend Dan and I travelled to Boston to visit our friend, Elizabeth, in her entry-level Boston pad. We all met in college, where we passed the courses and tests they gave us with flying colors. We were a bunch of smart motherfuckers, in those days. We could conquer anything.

Flash forward to the present day. The entry level.

The thing about the entry level they don't tell you is that you cease doing anything smart. You may have been summa cum laude last year, but now you're getting the coffees. You're passing things out. You're taking orders. And you're taking the blame.

YOU, my friend, are a slave to the man and your brain cells are probably disappearing as we speak. Not to worry though; you are not alone.

Take, for example, the instance of entry-level Dan vs. the entry-level microwave:

Dan needed food; not much, just a plate of leftovers. The kind of leftovers that require a quick one-minute nuking. No big deal, right? Wrong.

Elizabeth's microwave, you see, is just the sort of ghetto model that comes with most entry-level apartments. It's from an older generation than Dan and his friends. And it's mocking them with its manual-ness.

Dan and the machine are locked in a respectable staring contest, when Dan throws in the towel. He lifts his finger to the machine and presses the number 1. 

The microwave roars to life... for one second.

Fail, Dan. Welcome to the entry level.