2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 76

First, I needed to find a job. My job hunting efforts began with editorial work in publishing and PR. Given my business background, I thought, at least I can to write press releases in PR. Hey, that's still writing. In three weeks, I managed to get two offers for internships at PR firms, and an almost spot in Cosmopolitan magazine. I'm so excited about my internship. I made up my mind to do such a great job that they'll have no choice but to hire me. The night before my first day, I set my alarm for 7 o'clock in the morning, and laid out the complete recipe for a big, nutritious breakfast. I hope my boss will like me.

The interesting thing about my internship place is that nobody needs to be there. There are seven or eight of us, all in our twenties, from all over the UK, and everybody has come to London for the same reason: to break into the glamorous world of advertising and PR. Nobody's mother has said to anyone, "You must work in media in order to be successful in life." Everybody, even the gorgeous blonde from Manchester (who really should be on the cover of Vogue instead of pitching products to Vogue editors) shares what I thought was my own personal motive: we all want to work in PR because it is interesting.

The PR office is located in grungy Camden, in an equally grungy building with ceiling fans and exposed brick walls. We were each assigned to a team, given tasks, and generally ignored for the rest of the day. Nobody paid much attention to us. Which made me wonder if they had so much work that they needed all seven or eight of us. Or if they'd even read our resumes. I made phone calls to community newspapers pitching Tough Mudder – the city obstacle course race, figured out the transit map for client meetings, picked up magazines from tube stations. After I did all that, someone asked me to reorganize the stock room.

"Please, promise me you won't leave?" said the guy who gave me the task.

I looked at him with bewilderment, thinking why would I leave because you asked me to organize the stock room?

Around noon, I go eat lunch with all the other interns at the café next door. We gather around a big table. Shyly, everyone does a little "Hello, My name is..." intro, as though it's the first day of school. A sharply-dressed gay guy who seems more seasoned than the rest of us says, "I've interned at Burberry and Vogue. This is my third internship. This PR company we are at is apparently a really good one. Like top three." Everyone looked at each, like frankly, that's an awful lot of internships, and slumped into silence.

While it did puzzle me how one small PR firm was going to hire seven or eight interns at once, and that things might get competitive around here, it hadn't occurred to me new grads often have to endure – not one – but multiple unpaid internships (each lasting three to six months at a time) before they will finally land a paying gig. Back when I was in the consulting industry, I had never heard of unpaid internships. I'm not even sure if my old company used interns at all. I remember all the consulting new hires got three weeks of mandatory training: one week in Vancouver, two weeks in Chicago. That sure was nice. Though it seems very far away now.

My cell phone rings.

It's Henry. He's checking in on how I'm doing on my first day. I met Henry (and his goatee, and his high-fashion specs) two weeks ago, at an Asians without Borders meetup. Since then, we've taken the thrilling elevator ride up the Heron Tower and eaten fried pig ears for dessert. He's one of my favorite phone-conversation companions, a thoroughly entertaining and surprisingly wise late night radio DJ packed in tight dragon boat t-shirt. When he's not paddling on Thames, he's analyzing systems at a Japanese bank in London and making more money than any of us.

So I step outside under the shade and take the call from Henry.

"Hiya! How's your first day of work in London treating you?"