The harsh reality of being an intern

I had a reality check yesterday.

I am an intern.

Yes, I know that's probably obvious to all of you and understood among my colleagues. But it's news to me. (ha, get it? news?)

I've been fooling myself into thinking that I'm a "special" intern. I do things no intern has done before. I've been places no intern has ever gone. I casually chat with people no intern has ever attempted to befriend. But the reality is - I'm just an intern.

I do the grunt work - the work no one else wants to do or that no else can do. I contributed more than any other reporter to the Think Pink sections under the impression that I was being given a huge opportunity. The truth? No one else wanted to do it considering they had much more pressing stories to write or breaking news to report.

I covered election night, which I considered an honor, and I couldn't believe they would consider me for such a position. The truth? They couldn't find anyone else to fill that position so I was their last hope.

My editor consistently tells me that I'm overqualified for some of the things I'm doing. The truth? I'm not. So the filing and the Excel spreadsheets and the holiday guides continue because that's what I do. I pick up the slack.

But you know what? That's okay. Because if I didn't do the work, it wouldn't get done. And if it didn't get done, it might mean that people wouldn't have access to certain information they need or someone's voice wouldn't be heard. And that's a heck of a lot worse than filing house ads.