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.