Exciting development on the CheeseGov front: I don’t have to play musical chairs in the office this summer. Oxymorons be damned, I have a new permanent temporary spot on the fourth floor. Feels a bit like slumming after working on the sixth floor – after all, the Jeffersons were movin’ on up, not down – but at least with an assigned desk there’s no stress over finding an empty workspace.
This all came about because we have an intern who started this week. Last year’s intern was stuck in a conference room all summer; not an ideal setup, as she had very little interaction with the rest of the communications team. So, senior leadership decided to find us a spot where we could all sit together to collaborate and shit. The fourth floor, it turns out, is basically a ghost town – a vacant sea of empty desks and cubicles thanks to our space consolidation efforts, so they assigned us a coveted corner section with nary another person around (save for Randy and the intern). It’s so deserted, the motion-activated overhead lights occasionally shut off due to lack of movement.
I was pretty excited at first. My cubicle is right next to a window that offers a nice view to the west, and it’s so quiet, you can hear a pin drop.*
*Actually, this is not true. I find that phrase problematic. You would need superhuman hearing to detect the faint sound of a pin dropping, especially on a carpeted surface. But I digress.
In any case, I was really digging it. The weather on Tuesday was stormy, so I was enjoying the dramatic skies. I had my headphones on, rocking out to Built To Spill and Led Zeppelin and Pearl Jam, as one does, while toiling away on Official Government Business.
And then the explosions started.
At first I assumed the loud popping noises were thunder, but then the sun came out and they kept happening. I’m no scientist, but apparently, temperature and humidity fluctuations cause large panes of glass – in this case, our windows – to expand and contract, creating pressure. Every few minutes, all day long, it sounded like little explosions were going off right next to me. Now I know what it’s like to be a war correspondent.
Fun. And not the least bit distracting.
I don’t know why this happens on the fourth floor and not the sixth, but maybe it’s the real reason everyone deserted this part of the building. God forbid, if some deranged cheese-hating lunatic with a semi-automatic assault rifle ever breaches security, I am liable to die in my cubicle because I’ll assume the rattle of gunfire is just the windows doing their science-y thing.
Suddenly, the stress of finding an open flex spot doesn’t sound so bad. I just have to survive through August, when the intern leaves.
Speaking of interns, I’ve worked with quite a few of them over the years. Those experiences have mostly been positive (especially when I got paid to go hiking in the Black Hills with a college senior named Sarah who was an aspiring writer/photographer). I enjoy corrupting young minds being a mentor and sharing my wisdom and knowledge with the leaders of tomorrow. After all, I was an intern once, so I know how valuable hands-on experience can be.
Internships sure have changed a lot since the early ’90s, when I worked for a direct mail agency the summer before graduation. For instance: I was surprised to learn that most interns today get paid. Plus, the programs offer a lot more structure, allowing college students to perform work that’s actually relevant to their future career interests. What a concept. I was a glorified gofer who stuffed a lot of envelopes and accompanied reps on sales calls – and I did it for free. Since I had no aspirations to become either a professional envelope stuffer or a salesperson, this was mostly a waste of time.
I got a little bit of experience designing ads, at least. This involved a lot of cutting and pasting. Literally, we’re talking scissors and glue, since computers were still in their infancy (god, I’m old). The best thing about my internship? They gave me a cool nickname, The Hawk, because I had a knack for catching errors.
Make it Poutine
I got a text from a family friend in Hawaii this morning. He’s been watching the news about the Canadian wildfire smoke that’s blanketing the Midwest and was wondering whether it was affecting us.
First of all, what a nice gesture! Thanks, Dave. I appreciate your concern.
Secondly: yes. The smoke has been a steady presence for almost a week now, boosting our AQI to unhealthy levels. I thought the 2.5″ of rain we got Tuesday/Wednesday would disperse it, but it was actually worse after the storms blew through. Walking around Madison yesterday, it smelled like I was in a campground. Until the wind shifts direction, the smoke is going to be lingering, like a houseguest on their fifth night. Go away already!
Look, I like Canada as much as the next guy (though maybe not as much as the dumbass who wants to annex them). But they can stop sending us their wildfire smoke any time! These fires have been burning since March, 2023, which begs the question: How is there even anything left to burn by now?
Hey Canada, if you insist on sharing, send us something good, like poutine or the Northern Lights.
In the meantime, I’ll do a rain dance for y’all.
Have you worked with college interns? Were you an intern yourself? How’s your air quality lately?
Mark My Words 
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