Internship: Interview 1

All signs said no when I left Blackstone for my first interview. It was starting to rain and you could practically see steam rising from me I was so upset. I had spoken to my top three internship sites earlier that morning and each one had told me they were full up to their quota of interns-- paid or unpaid. Most let me know I was late in asking, which was the most frustrating part because I had been advised by the staff at the Chicago center to wait until now to contact anyone. 

The storm clouds were as dark as my mood and flustered, I had left the house with neither coat nor umbrella. I stood at the bus stop in heels and dress, ranting my woes to my sympathetic mom. The phone was getting poor reception and I had to practically shout to make myself heard over the rowdy crowd of high schoolers. Just then, something other than raindrops fell from the sky. Bird shit, landing squarely on my bag. 

Just then, the bus pulled up and I jostled on amongst the high schoolers. Plopping into a seat, I found a wet wipe and began furiously scrubbing the white smear off of the black bag. A sinking thought invaded my inner dialogue-- was it on my back, too? I looked around the bus. Well, I concluded grimly, at least I'll make some kids laugh.

"'Scuse me," I said, tapping the shoulder of the nearest fifteen-year-old. "Do I have bird shit on my back?" 

"Nah, nah," he managed before exploding into laughter.

Things Can't Get Worse

At the train station, rain began to fall in sheets. As the rain fell, I decided just to enjoy my luck. I mean, it'd make a good story, right?

The train ride was uneventful, until I descended at my stop. Could this be real? I wondered. A man leered at me as I maneuvered the steep metal stairs in my retro heels. I was in what looked like an industrial wasteland. But the intersection seemed right. I walked along under the El tracks. I was in a meat packing district and it was mostly abandoned-- except for 25 dogs who charged at me from behind a fence. Luckily, the motley crew then bedan to wag tails and I saw a swimming pool, reassuring me that it was a doggy daycare and not a training facility for killers. It was still raining and my delicate sweater and curled hair were damp and lank. Finally, on a warehouse not unlike the others I walked past, I saw a sign for Streetwise. I rang the bell. Here goes nothing, I thought. 

The Clouds Dissipate

From the second a smiling man welcomed me in, things took a dramatically different course. I was ushered into the office of Ben Cook. He had originally interned with Streetwise as a student in the Chicago Center program. Now, he had a full time position there.

Ben had brown eyes and a friendly manner. We got to talking and soon learned that the Chicago Center was far from our only connection. We had the same home state and when I confessed my rejections from the other sites, he nodded. "That was me, too," he said. "I wanted to work at In These Times."

That had been my No. 1 choice, too. 

After chatting with Ben, I felt considerably better. Flipping through old issues of Streetwise, I thought about how similar Ben and I were. If he had liked the internship so much that he had accepted a job here, it could be great for me, too. I began to absorb my rather unconventional setting. The office was wide and spacious, constructed by thin walls and dividers set up in the open space of the warehouse. The mixed crowd reflected the paper's mission. While Streetwise has a professional staff, its vendors are homeless or those at risk of being homeless. There was a vendor's meeting going on in a big room next door, so while half of the people I saw looked like typical office staff, dressed up in business casual, the other kind were (literally) off of the streets. 

I continued flipping through the magazine with a rather critical eye until my editor burst in. Her huge, circular glasses and frizzy hair gave her a kooky, unkempt appearance. She started chatting right away and I couldn't deny she was friendly, even if I wasn't exactly sure what she was saying. I nodded and smiled. After getting me a glass of water from a kitchen where huge, steaming trays of lasagna were currently being dished out to vendors and finding me a chair, the interview began. 

You know the type of interview, or indeed, conversation where you want so desperately to like the program-- you feel like you are trying so hard to meet them halfway and you feel like you should like it and yet, they offer absolutely nothing to make you excited about? Well, the first part of that was true. I was trying so hard to like it, but just not convinced. Then, the editor, in her goofy way, starts flipping through the list of potential stories. We need a person to write a story on... homeless immigrants. 

The magic key. I could not fully express my joy, my enthusiasm, my shock. This presented the chance to actually write about my idiosyncratic field-- my dream is to be a reporter on issues of immigration. And even better-- Streetwise would let me write about these topics AND to be published? 

The answer was yes right then but I listened joyously as she went on to explain how certain ethnic aid groups provide special services to their populations-- some are given special holiday food, etc. Many of the immigrant homeless are manual laborers, cut in the recession. Some, however, are driven to drink by loneliness. Sometimes, Suzanne told me, the aid societies even send an immigrant home. 

I was sold. The chance to report a story like that? Once in a lifetime. 

And so I left. As I walked past the dogs, I waved. I took photos of the El clattering above me. Well, it wasn't how I had envisioned an internship-- but it would make a good story.