This City Runs on Interns (And Giant Portions of Chocolate Cake)

 I am exhausted. (In fact, so tired that I’m afraid I will fall asleep at this table and this post will end with nonsense letter combinations banged out by my forehead hitting the laptop.) But I will persevere to talk about my first day as an intern in DC.

            Everyone who works in DC says, “this city runs on interns.” Then they give me an encouraging smile, hinting that the city or at least my organization would collapse without the work of unpaid student workers such as myself. And those words are certainly encouraging, to a point.

            But today, after my feet and fingers were numb from the misty rain shrouding the city, after failing to appropriately choose which metro/bus combination would get me to my office on time, after a (well-deserved but still gut-wrenching) lecture from the security guard at my building about always carrying multiple forms of proper identification, meeting what seemed like hundreds of people, being heartily intimidated by the site of an office building filled with extremely fit coast guard officers, and walking over four miles in heels and a suit in the now horrifyingly ugly barrier and bleacher-filled downtown area, I was feeling too pathetic to run my own life, let alone a whole city.

            But then came the chocolate cake. Well more appropriately, then came dinner sponsored by Carnegie Mellon Center for International Relations and Politics for the eleven of us participating in the Semester in Washington Program. The lovely Katie organized this gathering for us, as a way to bond as a group and to show that we have support from CMU even though we may actually be studying at another university, but also to just relax and swap stories about our first week at Georgetown, and first day as interns.

            We ate at Old Ebbitt Grill, a institution with roots trailing back beyond the 1820s, but now a beautiful, spacious, popular restaurant and bar on fifteenth street right across from the National Press Club. It was decadent, filled with suited and coifed professionals, and utterly delicious. With a menu starring parmesan trout, salmon, kobe beef sandwiches, truffle mac and cheese, an impressive oyster bar, and absolutely divine crab cakes, we couldn’t help but feel sophisticated and slightly worldly as we talked and joked in the marble atrium-like space. And the food was to die for. I went for classic favorites—super creamy, flavor-packed clam chowder, baseball sized crab cakes (advertised as 95% crab meat, with “just enough filler to keep it together”), and to finish, a monster of a chocolate layer cake. (While not quite competition for the flourless chocolate cake my sister and I made two weeks ago (recipe to come in future post), it was pretty darn good, and sweet enough to induce thoughts of cozy sweaters and a warm fire place.)

As I ate it, I found myself becoming increasingly drowsy as food coma began to set in, but also more comfortable with the chaos of my day. My hair may have been frizzy after the rain, the balls of my feet weeping after the long walk to the restaurant, my fingers just barely regaining feeling, and my mind spinning with names and floor plans I was already forgetting, but my heart rate was finally slowing, I was calming down, and my spirit was replenished.

            But now, I’m now utterly shattered. Literally staring down the short hallway of my apartment to my bedroom door wondering if I can make it—maybe if I crawl on all fours... or roll... But, I’m not upset that I’m tired. Rather, I’m invigorated. I already love my organization, despite the first day’s troubles. I know that through my internship, I’m going to have opportunities to meet and talk with people I never would otherwise get to know, including professors with expertise in regional and topical areas I love to study. The entire staff is welcoming and friendly, and I cannot wait to start contributing to the mission of the organization. But, despite these positive conditions, the sheer enormity of the challenge of this semester has started to sink in.

            I’m a student expected to produce top quality work at an excellent university. I’m a young adult in a diverse, historical, fun, unique place I can’t wait to explore further. I’m a self-aware kid with the need to take breaks, zone out, bake, dance, eat decadent chocolate cake, listen to music, or take some time every day to reflect. And I'm also a young intern with a city to help run—although I’m half-convinced it just takes miracles in the form of chocolate cake.