I suppose I’m the desperate kind.  And I suppose that I’m not special in that. Whether it be for attention, acceptance, or fickle human emotion.  How far do we go to obtain such a radical idea of ourselves and pursue that kind of craving?

Well, if you’re me, (and if you are, congratulations you handsome devil!) your constant need for forward thinking and academic stability has driven you to get an internship.  And truthfully, it doesn’t matter where.  My specialty in the fine arts has taken me in the direction of working at an art gallery, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the deviation curve from one profession to the next is not so drastic as one would assume.  At least not at this level.

Now, I’ve never written a column, and I sure as hell ain’t the type of person to be dishing out folksy wisdom (spit tobacco into jug…) but this opportunity could present itself another opportunity.  For those of you who are beginning the strenuous struggle of trying to find an internship yourself, or a job in your decided field that would replace that assistant manager position at Amigos, I’m here to try and give a realistic tutorial.  Now, I’ve also never had an internship, so let’s consider this a learning exercise for both all of us, simultaneously, over the next few weeks.

It probably wouldn’t be pertinent to divulge the actual name of the art gallery I’m interning at.  Because while they may benefit from the free publicity when I glow about the positives, I’m going to try and be as honest as possible and from time to time, that may force me to use language that’s not all that flattering.  There are likely more than a few misconceptions that we have going into internships.  The name alone sounds so distinguished and defined, doesn’t it?  It makes one think that they’re going to be a vital part of the working system by learning from a master of sorts.  Someone who’s spent years acquiring this vast knowledge by themselves and built a company from the ground up with their bare hands so that you could have this shortcut directly from them.

As my hubris slowly diminished from the first week on, I’ve since discovered that while still a very important cog in the great machine of helping this business run, I’m also the one who more than not, simply runs the errands.

The first day included a cross-town drive from paint supply store to paint supply store picking up discarded, over mixed, or otherwise surplus house paint that could be donated for a children’s activity occurring later in the summer.

Some purveyors were more than happy to part with the excess weight, but others strangely held a more bureaucratic take on getting rid of, and I quote, “useless paint.”  They told me to come back when a manager was present, or they just right out refused when told they wouldn’t be given any real compensation for their donations.

From this, I’ve discerned that some people are more tools than the objects they use on a daily basis.  When I returned my job was to put the brackets down in the basement.  My boss then informed me that I could take the rest of the day off.

Now, I’m not opposed to down time or getting off the hook early, but I was suspicious.

“Are you sure?” I asked with a pleasant smile.

“Yes, you’re free,” she replied genuinely, full of sunshine-laden cheer.

That perception would leave me come the next day when I was taught to clean out the back room that housed a menagerie of stored paintings, cardboard boxes and trash bags of packing material.  The  sheer and utter horror of a task to organize all of it was my burden to shoulder.  Literal towers of podiums needing to be painted with a color just ever so lighter than the color of white used to paint the walls. They laughed at me with an apparent reputation for never being done all the way.

Filing, sorting, rearranging and cleaning became my vocabulary on into the next two weeks. I would begin to sweat in my foolishly adorned pinstriped dress pants and collared shirt. How foolish of me to think that I should dress up for an art gallery position.

However miserable I might have been with my role in the grand scheme, there’s certain tranquility to having your own space, secluded from the front facade, that you and you alone are in charge of.  This is where the positive could be seen as a heavy competitor against its own monotony.

I’m on the bottom rung.  I’m beginning to understand that.  I’ve never been extremely good at accepting my appointed place, but in this scenario, it’s become important to know where you stand.  You and I are the bottom rung.  We do the things that the people who actually run the place either don’t have the time to do, or have honestly done it so many times, that they have the right to pass it down the ladder.  It’s no excuse to totally lie flat and think the rest of your time will be spent, or painting the trim for an upcoming show, but we’re here to absorb anything and everything about what think we want to do with the rest of our lives.

In reality, this grunt work may very well be the one thing that makes us realize it’s not our life’s ambition anymore.  But for now, I’m sitting on my own thought bubble.  Will this be worth it towards the end of the year?  I’ve got more to figure out. Hopefully that won’t involve a whole lot of cleaning with that goddamn broken broom.

– Spenser Albertsen is a U. Nebraska senior fine arts major.