intern (usually a college student from the Midwest with
a car their parents had bought them) is motivated by
greed, desire, and the promises of success their employers
make to them.
began to notice the thick layer of interns on which Hollywood’s
functionality depended; to run its errands, read its
scripts, answer its phones, clean its toilets, walk its
dogs, take out its trash, and dig through that trash
for the post-it note containing that important phone
number you gave it earlier that day. We were Hollywood’s
Private Proletariat and upward mobility began to feel
impossible. A person needed connections, experience,
and talent. I had none of those things.
one day something incredible happened. The husband and
wife duo called me into their office and offered me a
job. They wanted me to be their in-house producer. It
finally had happened. I would be paid. I would manage
all the graphics artists, editors, writers and probably
the coffee. I had broken through! Dreams did come true!
On my way home my truck’s engine light turned on
and funny sounds started to punch their way out from under
the hood. I limped my truck into a
shop where Tito explained, in broken English, that I would
need a new engine. I couldn’t believe it. I had
borrowed too much from my parent’s to borrow any
more. My summer lease was up and what little cash I had
left wouldn’t come close to covering a new engine.
I called up my friend Sean and he took me to a bar to
spend what little I had left.
to the guy at the end of the bar… he nodded and
started to spill his sad story, but who gives a shit about