Extreme makeover

22 May 2009

As you may imagine, for a girl who doesn't even shave her legs, getting my hair cut was a dramatic experience. Just ask David, my co-intern, who had to sit through a week of my shall-I-shan't-I before I got up the courage to do the deed. But it was really time I did something with that mop of split ends wigging out on top of my head.* On Wednesday, I arranged to take a long lunch, and the last words I said to David as I headed out to The Hair Shoppe were, "If I come back with long hair, DON'T SAY ANYTHING."

I haven't actually had my hair professionally cut since I was 12, and I had forgotten what a horrifying place the salon is. In case you too have forgotten, let me remind you: They plunk you down in that giant chair and tie your arms down under an enormous black cape. The Hairdresser comes in with an apron full of instruments of torture: combs with blades between the teeth, buzzers, razors, and all manner of sharp, pointy scissors. She grabbed my pony tail and I hear that shzzzzcK! of scissors on hair. Wagging the lopped off thing in front of my face she joked, "Too bad! Someone could have used that!"

I just closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, Too late to do anything now.

I think the best part of a dramatic haircut is the shocking response it draws from everyone who has to double-take as you walk in the room.

Monica and Rachel were the first to notice, and they exclaimed over my pluck and daring. My boss met me as I walked back to my computer and nearly began to introduce herself to "the new intern."

Of course, there's the chance no one will notice because they won't even recognize you. Four people recognized me at class the next day, my professor was not among them, and he gave me the strangest look as I sat down confidently at the front of his class.

Cait says I look like a model; that's what friends are for!

I believe I'm still recovering from the shock of really cutting it all off, but I think I like it.

And now, the new me:

*Puns are always intended.

Bookstore

21 May 2009

My new favorite section in the book store is the reference/trivia shelves. I discovered the Borders on 18th and L one morning as I walked to my office building, and it has become my favorite place to spend my free time in the city before work at 9:30.

I was actually looking for a book on the history of the OED, but this Borders is small or maybe the book is unpopular, anyway, it was out of stock, so I just perused the shelves- Change the World for Ten Bucks, Luck: The Essential Guide, and The Mental Floss History of the World: An Irreverent Romp Through Civilization’s Best Bits.

In the end, I actually wandered down stairs to the border of SciFi and Horror- right where Ray Bradbury belongs. I have always wanted to read Fahrenheit 451. And they're kind enough to provide coushy chairs.

At the water cooler

I work in a real office. In fact, as I pledged the furniture in the directors office (oh, the high and mighty work of the revered intern), I noticed that if I sat in the chair next to the interior window, it would look like one of those close up interview shots from The Office. Exactly like The Office. We don't quite have the caricatures that JB Novak dreamed up, but, from where I sit, there does seem to be an endless supply of the ridiculousness here.

The director of IT walked past my desk the other day, "Did you know I have gills. I do. That's why I wear collared shirts."
I wonder what he felt about the Lox wraps they served in the board room for lunch.

Suzie and David swapped music pirating sites over lunch, and when I rolled my eyes David offered, "We'd be more than happy to share the joys of piracy with you if you are ready to welcome them into your heart."
Seriously. Those were his exact words.

Also, David has recently coined the term "The Mallory Effect" in which I rub off on other people and they start spewing non-sequiturs at passing coworkers.

Apparently my propensity for office ADD is manifest in a running commentary, but at least my comments make sense most of the time.

Today Brian walked in carrying a slightly frosty desktop hard drive.
"Found it! Forgot I stuck this thing in the freezer last month."

Out to lunch

05 May 2009

I sat next to Roy R. Romer today at lunch. He looks much older now than in his Wikipedia picture, but that didn't stop all the important people in the Capital Hilton Congress Room from coming up to say hello. He didn't actually introduce himself to me, he only asked what I did and, no doubt trying to be genuinely conversational, asked this and that about TPR. But I knew who he was because Checker (who's real name is Chester E. Finn Jr.) gave a shout-out from the podium to his old friend Roy, and someone stopped by to congratulated him on his son's becoming another Senator Romer.

Roy R. Romer, by the way, was a congressman, a senator, the 39th governor of Colorado, the superintendent of Los Angeles' Schools, he has a school named after him in the San Fernando valley, and now he serves as the chairman and lead spokesman for Strong American Schools, currently funded by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and the Eli and Edythe Broad foundation, which is an initiative aimed at encouraging politicians to include education reform in their platforms.

But really, sitting next to Roy was nothing, I was in fact sitting in front of Checker the whole time, who was formerly the United States Assistant Secretary of Education and currently the president of the Thomas B. Fordham Foundation, who provided the luncheon.

I was there just to take notes on the speakers, but since the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation had been so kind as to provide the delicious and expensive box lunches, I helped my self to a grilled vegetable on tomato focaccia sandwich.

NOTE: Roy R. Romer eats his chocolate brownie with a fork, which is a much more sophisticated way of doing it, especially at a luncheon full of DC's leading lights in the field of education reform. I felt foolish for trying to eat it with my bare hands.

The intern

04 May 2009

(in all her glory)

I stopped on my way out of the office to switch from business pumps to my favorite tennis shoes. Leaning against the water fountain I noticed a sign on the door opposite: "Stairwell." Stairs! Why have I been riding the elevator every day! I slipped through the heavy door and heard it clunck shut as I skipped down the five flights to the ground floor, which is where I found a very nasty-looking metal grate of a door with "Fire Exit Only" painted in large and unfriendly letters. An addendum was stamped beneath: "Alarm will Sound."

Hm.

I ran back up a level to floor 2 and rattled the door knob. Locked.

So was the next door and the next and the next.

Back on the fifth floor, I considered sitting down to think or maybe cry. Then, as I so often do when I'm in need of a bit of cheer, I thought What would Vernon do? and I saw him in my mind's eye doubled over, piddling-- yes, in fact piddling-- at the hilarity of my situation: It was my first week of work and I was locked in the stairwell of 1150 17th Street in Washington, DC.

I swallowed what little pride I had still intact (after a week of interning) and called the office. (Thank heavens I had cell phone reception in that concrete pit.)

"Philanthropy Roundtable, this is Lindsay."

"Hi. This is the intern. I'm locked in the stairwell, could you come let me out."

Bless Lindsay for not laughing while I was still on the line, "Sure, where's the stairwell?"

"Just outside our office, next to the drinking fountain."

"I'll be right there."

She didn't even crack a smile as she pulled the heavy door open, "I think this happens in a lot of DC office buildings-- the doors only open if the fire alarm goes off. I think Lacey locked herself in here too her first week. She's the sort of girl who would try to take the stairs."

I mumbled something about avoiding a fire drill, tried to chuckle and ran for the elevator.

Well, as my boss Stephanie has been reminding me all week-- I am an intern; I can only go up from here.