I Was an Intern. Now I’m Nothing: An Open Letter to My Manager

There’s something exhilarating about being the youngest person in the office by 20 years

February 1, 2021

Dear Manager,

When I first heard about the lockdown, I immediately became fearful of what this meant for the office. As an intern, as the intern, I knew that the entire office environment would be thrown into complete disarray – let alone the economic volatility we would see in our stock price. What about my ergonomic mouse getting lonely sitting by my bluetooth keyboard? What about the colorful bowl of dusty 2019 leftover Halloween candy just perched there all alone in the median? Let me back in there, please. Just long enough so I can power down the monitors.

You may know me as “intern,” “who are you again,” or even “what are you doing here,” but I consider myself the office’s most valuable asset (not to be confused with “asshat,” which you have said on some occasions). I am writing to remind you of the beautiful connection we shared and how we may aspire to have it again. After months at home, I have grown to miss the dirty anonymity of being an intern, your intern. That is why, as COVID restrictions are prematurely lifted, I am begging you to let me back into the office.

As an intern, you can always count on me to have infinite copies of my resume. In the case that toilet paper runs out once again, I would happily hand you a resume under the stall. I know you prefer two ply, but I have begun printing my resumes on softer, recycled paper to compensate. I also slipped in formatting inconsistencies so you can “where’s Waldo” on the job. I just want you to enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about my enjoyment. Yours is enough for me.

As the days go by doing remote work, I lose more and more of my most fundamental identity: intern. I itch to alphabetize. I am haunted by the sweet simplicity of buying coffee. I still remember your exact order. Venti iced skinny hazelnut macchiatos with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot, light ice, and no whip. I dream of it. I burn for it. On bad days, the days the printers stay full and do not need restocking, the days a senior VP smiles at me in the corridor, I would buy something for myself and shame-drink it next to the dumpster. How dare I enjoy something at the workplace. A brief moment of indulgence turns into a rancid, lingering flavor. Then, and only then, could I continue my day.

I understand how this must look to you: a snakey little intern trying to worm her way back into the office dirt, but please take my request to heart. My parents acknowledge my existence too often and say my name too lovingly. Allow my existence to go back into being a little joke.

Best regards,

Your Intern