To anyone who will listen: please attend to my tale of woe! This morning, my application to be a summer intern in my own (upper-middle-class) home was rejected.
I’d gotten desperate following a string of rejections from various prestigious NYC internship opportunities: Goldman Sachs, a dozen other firms whose names I didn’t bother to check, Porcelain Doll’s Gentleman Club, and even Chipotle. So, desperate, I sent my Mom a full application to intern at home, doing my laundry, washing my dishes, and perhaps occasionally laying out a cutesy little table setting.
There was no official job posting, but I sent my Mom my (500+connection-ed) LinkedIn account, poured my heart into my cover letter, and embellished my resume with some chores I have not in fact done at college. Not only that, but I even finally called my parents back, just to suck up a bit. AND YET, lo and behold, what do I receive in my email today but a rejection email from my very own mother, signed “With love,” just to rub salt in the wound.
She just keeps telling me to come home and enjoy my summer, that our jacuzzi would be good for my obvious stress. I guess she just doesn’t understand my grindset.
I’m thinking of trying to barter with her—maybe I could do an unpaid home internship? Just build up some chore-doing experience for future skill application? I think I might have a better success rate there, and I need something for the ol’ resume. Plus, at this rate, I’m definitely going to need to learn how to do my own housework, because I might have a month or two after graduation before I’ve socked up or inherited enough dough to hire a maid or two.
