intern's jobJust a fun memory today, of my time living and writing at the beach:

On workdays, I’d get up and go lay on the beach in the morning. Then I’d throw on a dress over my bathing suit and drive straight to work. (Stick with me here; there’s a reason for my lack of concern about my appearance.) Typically, I’d arrive at the newspaper office and get sent right back out to cover a story at the Marine Lab—there were great chances for getting dirty at the lab, with a hands-on, messy, sometimes smelly story to write there. After my first couple assignments there, I stopped trying to look nice for work. (Told ya.) Then I’d return to work and type up my articles with sand dripping out of my hair, onto my keyboard, and on the floor around my desk.

The other reporters really liked me. Funny, but true. Not so much for the sand business because it reminded them of the gorgeous weather outside that they were missing, but I figured we were even because they always laughed at me when I got sent to the Marine Lab. No, they liked me because I did the work they didn’t want to do. That’s the intern’s job.

I also wrote obituaries and typed the Lady Golf scores. I did the scores with a straight-back concern for accuracy. Those ladies had been known to call and complain something fierce if extra strokes were added to their scores, or if their rivals’ scores appeared lower. You couldn’t win. And neither could those ladies.

The obituaries, on the other hand, I wrote with honor. I got to peek into someone’s life, discover the details, and watch as a person emerged through tender stories told by loved ones. It was a privilege, and it was mine.

~
Jody Brown is the author of Upside Down Kingdom, and is a multi-blogger, poet, and traveler. Her current writing projects, including her daily blog endeavor, #Project365, can be found at JodyBrown.com/writing

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