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He glanced at the resume. Read it aloud, a clear as Ever indication this was time primero he laid eyeball to C.V. ink.

“Shogun Sushi,” mumble mumble, “Rutgers University,” mumble mumble, then stopped. Where they always stopped. Asked what they always asked. “What’d you do for Maxim Magazine?”

Eric offered one takeaway, other than his narrative on the crapshoot that is procuring an internship: “Be clear about what you want to do. The last guy they passed on because he said he didn’t know what he wanted.”

So when he posed his question – what do you want to do in this industry? – he got the straight.

Be a screenwriter. No if’s, and’s, or um’s.

At which point Matt concluded the interview, and offered two-penny thoughts on the best path to becoming a screenwriter, none which involved his internship program.

“I see this internship as a stepping stone for people,” he said. “I don’t want someone who’s going to do this, then take a position for $38,000 a year at Chase Bank or something.” He followed this back-handed back hand with suggestions how a Chase bank teller should go about it.

“Spend a year just focused on your writing, and reading great scripts. You don’t have to be a part of this program to do that.”

Or –

“Take a class on screenwriting at UCLA extension. Learn about the structure – that’s the best way for you to become a screenwriter.”

Or –

“Spend a year working desk at an agency. Learn from the movers and shakers. You’ll spend 80 hours a week there your first year. Probably won’t write much. But you’ll come out with contacts, and with luck, get somebody to represent you.” At which point he realized how contradictory his advice was, and tried fobbing it off with – “you’re well-spoken, you dress well, and you’re a sharp guy. You look like an agency kid to me.”

Mad-Libs are more specific.

Twenty minutes of this. Followed with some standing, a warm smile, and hand shaking hand. All formalities – the interview finished 18 minutes ago. But not nobody wastes your time unless you let him; if the crash ‘n burn looks top gun, best aim for great balls of fire.

Matt, I respect your opinion. I respect everything you just said. But I want to leave no doubt in your mind that I want to be in contention for this internship.

Finally. A genuine smile to replace the smirk. “Then you are.”

Never heard from him again.

Continue to Internships – Part Three: Scorecard

Return to Internships – Part One: Getting an Interview

Photo Credit: Enri Endrian

“It’s rolling the dice,” Eric said, “trying to get an interview for one of these internships.”

On the second day of his internship, his boss presented him a stack of resumes. “He told me, ‘go through these, find five candidates to interview for the last internship spot.’”

“When you’re given 50 resumes and cover letters, and told to get it down to five, you look for any reason to discount someone. That’s how I eliminated the first half: I looked for any reason to not consider them. Typo – gone. Poor formatting – gone.

“One guy, trying to be funny in his cover letter, wrote he was looking for ‘slave labor employment.’ It was cute – he was eliminated. Another girl put a suggestive picture of herself as the background to her resume – gone.

“That got me down to 25 resumes, at which point it’s even more of a crap shoot, not less.” All of the obvious rejects were already sitting in the trash, he explained. With those that remained, how many were likely to jump out as the “right” person for the position?

Very few.

“It came down to my mood, or the little details I noticed in the resumes. ‘Oh, you went to a Big 10 School? Okay, you’re in.’ Or, ‘You went to Texas State? I like your football team, you’ll get interviewed.’ Any insignificant detail can make the candidate stand out, and it’s completely subjective to the person going through the resumes.” Eric shook his head. “Not to mention any subconscious biases or prejudices.

“I chose three resumes and realized they were all girls. And I’m not going to hand my boss five female candidates, so I eliminated the remaining girls from the stack of resumes. Which isn’t fair to them; anyone of them could have been more qualified than the three already picked, but that’s just the way it goes.

“It just makes me realize more that if you want to get somewhere in this industry, you have to know people. Submitting your resume to a database of resumes – like I did before – is fruitless. The people in charge want recommended people; they’re aware what a shot in the dark the hiring process is. If they pick a random, they could wind up with a psycho nobody likes. If they hire based on your recommendation, at least they’re removing the ‘random’ element. Everyone benefits when you hire based on a recommendation.”

Continue to Internships – Part Two: First Interview

Photo Credit: MindField Group

He didn’t bring it up. Not until one month before I said I was leaving.

“So what’s your plan for this going out to Los Angeles-thing?” That’s what my father called it. The “going out to Los Angeles-thing.” He thought it more a pipe dream, one of my big-talk plans where I laced a fat juicy finger around the trigger but never succeeded in popping off a shot. Can’t blame him for it – it’s happened before. Not so often to call it a habit, exactly, but enough to half-anticipate it. Or to dub it a “-thing,” hyphen required.

Okay Dee, thoughts: how is this year thus far comparing to last?

In the background, the din of Social Time peters in and out. Directly across from us, tiny Jeremy serenades swooning CTY girls on his violin. Around the waterless fountain – there is a drought going on – a score of students meander; laughing and talking and flirting, all within various degrees of social grace, from adroit to yammering.

I thought it a loaded question. How difficult could it be to surmount the year previous? It was the year of The Swine Flu, when we sent nearly half the student body packing for coughs and toasty foreheads. Entire halls, decimated as H1N1 floated from room to room, ruining the three weeks these students spend an entire year looking forward to.

CTY Staff Picture

Last year we lost Trench Dodgeball. The same year leadership changed to incapable and inexperienced hands, and relations between administrators were – to say the least – venomous. In my mind, the more appropriate question was, Is this year worse in any way–

“I had so much more fun last year than I’m having now,” Dee said, cutting my thread like Sister Fate.

A literal double-take.

I thought it sarcasm, but the response was so immediate, so filled with absolute, unwavering conviction, that it couldn’t be anything but.

I didn’t respond right away. I couldn’t, and Dee took my silence as prompting:

“Last year, I felt like I found my best friends right away, you know? I got comfortable with our crew so quick. There was always someone to talk to. I expected to find it again this year, but I don’t feel like I connected with anyone.

“I only came back this year because my first session last year was so great. If this session was my first ever, I don’t think I would have returned.” Dee shrugged. “But, I really like my girls this session, at least.”

That’s weird, I joked.

She laughed. “Right? I actually enjoy spending time with them, and they want to hang out with me. So there’s that…”

We talked more, but I’m distracted by this pitfall, which seemed as obvious as a Warner Brothers cartoon: loaded with ACME product placement and talking animals, and the disguised sand trap set by the foolhardy yet indestructible coyote for our hero, the rabbit. I thought it went without saying: if you return to the CTY program, leave your expectations of the summer back home. There is no room for them, not this summer, this site, with this set of staff members. Even if you find yourself surrounded by fellow returners, don’t expect to recreate the experiences of yore. It won’t take.

CTY Casino Night

Dynamics change – even the relationship between you and your bestest bosom buddy will be different. You will not pick up right where you left off, because neither of you are there. Not anymore; sometime during the 315 days of Normalcy, you both walked away, without a backwards glance. That’s the way it is, the way it must be.

Preserve those memories like butterflies, tacked behind glass. They’re nice to display, nice to look at, but you don’t take them out, urging them to beat their wings to admire their flight. It won’t happen, and to try is torturous. Memory is fickle and unreliable. It plays tricks, it dulls, it softens around the edges with every turn in your fingers. It can transform a mediocre evening into an idyllic day dream, or a flailing relationship into the one-that-got-away.

Do not return with expectation. And contrary to the verbiage, not doing is an active activity.

Remind yourself the session will not be the same.

Demand yourself to return with fresh eyes, untainted by what you loved or hated the year before.

Treat each student, each dance, each activity like an island, existing only unto itself, free of past connotations, and no promise of the future.

Attack the summer with a blank canvas, and let the new relationships color you as they will.  It won’t be the same picture, but that’s not to say it won’t be beautiful or special or wonderful. It’ll just be different.

I told Dee, I wish we talked about this earlier. I wish we had this conversation before CTY started.

She said she does too.

If I did, though, who’s to say she would follow the advice? Forgetting how wonderful something is isn’t like flipping a switch, ON/OFF, ON/OFF. It takes a degree of coldness to write off the past, to lock it behind glass. It’s so much easier to hope I’m wrong, that things can be as they were, nearly perfect in that CTY bubble.

Even as I write this, I still hope. That someday, any day, a returner will seek me out, and tell me I was wrong about everything here. That you can recreate, and things can be as you imagined them before.

I hope it happens.

Photo Credit: cjacky2221