boring internship stuff

I just realized I have comments on my blog! They’ve apparently been there for about a month but I just noticed them. Obviously, I have not been the best at keeping this blog, but I have reasons.

I noticed the comments were about my internship. And that very little guy, Mr. Internship, is what is keeping me from this blog. I just can’t fathom looking at a computer screen after I get home from work. I can watch t.v., but that’s as much screen as I can tolerate. I tend to avoid my phone, and my poor lab top must feel quite sad. During school he’s my best bud, but now it’s just not the same. My facebook has even felt the pain; I just don’t visit it as much anymore.

But Dr. King sent us a “get serious email,” and when I finally checked my email (which I now do about once a month) I thought “oh shat, i’m totally slacking.” So I’m trying to do better. Even though I am deathly sick of computer screens from staring at one all day, I must do my homework! Anyway, I think I’ll write a little about my internship, since it is the very reason I dislike monitors and thus, avoid this class work.

I work at Credit Suisse; a Swiss bank, headquartered in gorgeous Zurich. I work in the Private Banking division as a Marketing Intern. The marketing team in which I work consists of six characters; 3 main, and 3 supporting. They are all ladies ranging in age from 24 to 39. (It took me about five weeks to figure out ages but I got most of them- for some reason I need to know ages of people when I get to know them.)

The cast hails from all over. Two of the ladies are from Switzerland; one is Chinese from Hong Kong & England. One is form the Philippines and came to the U.S. for college. Then there are two Americans, one of whom speaks Italian. It’s quite a nice mix, plus there are some great accents.

The private bank works with insanely wealthy people. To be a P.Bing client, you must have upwards of $20 million. Some clients have a $4 billion net worth. I can’t picture that much money, but it’s out there. Today I heard a story about a family with 70 million, whose kid just graduated from a good college, and is now living in his car in Colorado, river rafting all summer. (Yes, I am outrageously jealous.)

The head of the marketing team, Fiona is an extraordinary lady. She is incredibly nice--she gets everything done without ever pissing anyone off. That is quite a golden characteristic in any business setting. I can tell she’s awesome at marketing-- and I barley know anything about marketing. Fiona and her underlings think of strategic programs to retain and gain clients. It’s all about pleasing the uber-rich, so the people who manage their money (people like my dad) can make a nice living. It’s kind of funny the way it works. Anyway, they think of events, make brochures, and tons of other things...

Above Fiona is a “managing director.” He’s probably mid-50s and has a daughter one year younger than me. He knows my Dad, so he introduced himself to me the first day, (managing directors normally could not care less about interns.) This guy is one of the elite; he has an office! He’s the one whose window I can see out of! I feel comfortable around him because he reminds me of my best friend’s dad. This is kind of risky because I let my sarcastic, ‘wry’ (as Dr. king said) sense of humor run free with him.

He told my Dad in so many words, that ‘I don’t take crap from anyone. (Which by the way is quite false, but I guess that’s the way I am with him.)

Last week I got worried though, he said, “you’re going to go far with your sarcastic answer to everything.” But, I quickly dropped my concern when he proceeded to make fun of my bright yellow nail polish the next day and, CCed me in an email to my dad regarding my ‘gross’ nails.

Occasionally he throws on a jam around 4.30 to loosen up for the end of the day. Yesterday, he called me into his office and asked me to name my favorite song. I was quite hesitant, but with coaxing, I gave in. My favorite song is “Going to California,” by Led Zeppelin. Once I disclosed my song he searched for it on youtube and couldn’t find it, “Is this one of those songs kids sit around and smoke weed to?” he asked. I awkwardly stammered, “Maybe” and laughed, not expecting such an intimidating question. Which he followed up by, “what decade were you born in?” Finally he located the song, which he said was “slow.” My song choice was not his cup of tea, but at least it was interesting.

There are many characters in the office besides just the marketing team. There are some
--quirky interns --a vegan managing director who eats bags of lettuce for lunch---John McGinley’s brother (dr. cox from scrubs.) & --sleveless girl.

This one girl, aprox. 24, always has a sleeveless shirt on! In my head, I call her “sleeveless girl.” I’ve never actually met her, but I see her almost everyday.

Her cubicle is on the way to the marketing closet. The marketing closet is where we throw the extra brochures, booklets, client gifts, and event necessities. It smells of bubble wrap and cardboard. I spend a lot of time in there, fetching things for my co-workers.

The marketing closet is an organized, bland looking, sanctuary. I love going on trips to the closet. I can go in there and shut the door for a little get away. It is time alone; I can take my shoes off and dance around--because for a moment, 30 people can’t see what I am doing at all times. I enjoy the marketing closet, maybe more than the entire cast of characters.

And yes, I have danced around in there, because why not?

(that came dangerously close to a hillary duff song lyric which is embarrassing.)

That's the gist of my internship, what I do and where I fit in during all of this, is not that important, I'm just an intern after all.

Credit Suisse NY office:

...This is actually Shed Jr. (refer to cabin piece)

Sir Paul

On the way home from work one day, two weeks ago, I got off the subway and heard some loud music. I walked toward our apartment and approached the outskirts of a massive crowd. I asked a woman who was a dead give-away tourist what was going on. She informed me that Sir Paul McCartney was playing on the Ed Sullivan theatre marquee.
On the way to work I saw people setting up cranes and such, but I figured they for some stunt on the Letterman show. It was a lovely surprise, I haven't followed his solo career, but obviously he is one of the Beatles. Thus, he is a somewhat of a legend. Some people are cynical about him going around singing Beatles songs, but I was pumped and while he sang Helter Skelter I felt overwhelmed, I was seeing a Beatle and I was freakin' happy. While introducing "Back in the U.S.S.R" he informed the crowd that 'this place no longer exists,' and we all laughed and sang along. I took some photos, congratulating myself for starting to bring my camera around "just in case." Once he finished and the crowd dispersed a guy said to his friend, "this is the kind of stuff that makes all the b.s of living in the city worth it." I walked across Broadway dodging pedestrians and thought that, Perhaps he's right...?

Happy Graduation Jeffrey

It’s weird, because even though I feel pretty immature and know I’m young, I constantly get slapped in the face by how old I’m getting. Jeff’s graduation from college was one of those wicked face whacks. He’s two years older than me, and now a college grad. I remember when he got his license and it shook me—my brother can drive. He seemed incredibly old. This is like that, except a lot worse. I thought college grads were grown up, but he just doesn’t seem that way. Regardless of my convoluted thoughts, in mid-May I traveled down to Washington D.C for Jeff’s graduation festivities.

The traffic on the way down was horrendous. My dad drove one car, and my mom and I followed (Jeff needed one to move out.) Driving 6 hours in bumper to bumper traffic with my mother was worse than preparing, taking, and getting the results of the SATs. The ride was accompanied with snaps of “Slow down! I see break lights!” “Why are you still accelerating?” “You treat this car horribly” and “Do you ever listen to a song all the way through?”
When we finally pulled up to the Key Bridge Marriot my dad ran to check in and upon his return we quickly parked the cars. We were running late for our 5.30 reservation at an Italian place my brother had been longing to try since his freshman year. The streets looked like downtown Baltimore after a Ravens game, so we walked.

Sweating with frizzy hair and a stretched out sun dress I had not planned on wearing, I speed walked to the restaurant moving faster than a golf cart, but not quite the speed of a scooter. I swerved through people like cones in a car commercial, and infrequently glanced back at my exhausted mother lagging behind. I was determined, this reservation meant eating fabulous food, but more importantly I didn’t want to let my brother down. After a walk which took longer than I expected, I saw Jeff under the awning and quickly crossed the street. We went downstairs to inform the inpatient host that indeed one more member of the party was there and two more were on their way. Jeff went back up to the street to find our parents and I held down the fort, finally catching my breath from my travels. The crowd was excited yet classy. People were celebrating, but in a low-key manner to accompany the dim-lit high class restaurant. They would have time to rage at the black tie ball later anyway. We finally sat down to dinner and all scarfed down warm crunchy Italian bread, sopping it up with salty thick olive oil. Jeff spoke of his depression about being done with college, and my parents listened thoughtfully as I munched on my bread, while we all thought about what the hell Jeff would do now.

Graduation marks the first time in Jeff’s life that he’s had no plan. Parallel with my life; we went to middle school, and knew after that was high school, then college. Our parents decided where we good to high school and had a heavy say in where we attended college. There was never a need for us to make decisions, ultimately our parents made them for us. After years of floating by, Jeff had come to the end. It is like a second birth, but instead of being brought home and coddled by loved ones, graduating is more like strangers with masks blindfolding you, throwing you in the back of one of those white vans, and then dumping you out in the dark while the truck is still moving.

After finishing dinner, we rushed back to the hotel with an approximate hour to get spiffed up for the black tie gala hosted by Georgetown for the grads. I tornadoed my room and got ready in time to meet my parents in the cab line. I complained about my hair and the uncomfortable amount of makeup I was wearing while everyone else seemed to enjoy their get-up. We picked up Jeff on the way and arrived about 40 minutes later at Washington Train station. The huge white marble station could make any city train station envious. I felt bad for the poor souls who actually wanted to just take the train, as it was swarmed with fancy folk ready for the night out.

We get inside and take some photos before bumping into a family which we have known for about 10 years. I speak to the younger brother of the graduate who I attended middle school with and had a massive crush on in 5th grade. Of course I was awkward, made some small talk and about 5 minutes in was quite ready to hit the open bar. We walked around checking out the station’s décor and hung around. Around 12 a.m my parents left. I basically invited myself along with Jeff for the night, and he surprisingly seemed okay with it. As soon as they left we drank a significant amount more. I talked with Jeff's lovely girlfriend, and he with his roommate. We left when it died down and went to a few different places, ultimately ending up in a backyard of one of his friend’s houses.

The graduates seemed excited but somewhat somber, realizing this was the end. We ventured back to Jeff’s house where they called me a cab to return to the hotel. I got put in a cab around 5 a.m by a wine-bottle swinging drunken brother telling me to text him when I got home. The cab driver remarked on his state, and I replied “well, it’s his last night of college.”