Things I Learned From My Internship, Part Seven (or Sharing is Caring) + The Adventures of Mumsy, Naughty Nicki, and I For this little tidbit I'm going to tell you a story, a story of a girl:
Once upon a time, on my last week working at Martha Stewart, I was speaking with a coworker, let's call her Lisa (you know, to protect her identity, and I asked her what she was doing before the glorious days of Martha. She responded by telling me that she had worked at both Allure and InStyle, which is awesome. Something about which I would have clearly liked to know more. In fact, if you know me at all you know I would happily work at either of those establishments with a smile on my face for all my days. 'Lisa' was clearly a connection whose life I could have looked over with a fine tooth comb and bored with my questions. I also could have used her as a reference/in into a photo job at one of these magazines (not that I will not now, since I know she loves me).
The moral of this story is to ask your coworkers questions about themselves early on into your internship. People like to talk about themselves and their accomplishments, whether that is the incredible genius of their granddaughter (my mother), the amazing family photos they took at the beach (anyone who owns a point-and-shoot or a camera phone) or how they just got back from battling crippling winds and subzero temperatures while climbing Mt. Everest (no one I know). Don't believe me? Go ask anyone you even marginally know what they do, or what they are most proud of accomplishing and see what happens.
Not only does asking about your coworkers lives build a stronger relationship with them, but it also allows you to figure out networking opportunities way before you need them (something I failed at, but will not fail at in the future). This also has the added bonus of making your coworkers believe you care about them (I did, you may not, just pretend you do). Plus, and I am not lying, you get to hear some funny stories. Directly after 'Lisa' gave me the momentous fashion magazine revelation she told me a hilarious story about finding out one of her old roommates was a 'dancer' by coming upon the girl's clear, lucite dancing heels displayed in the girl's room after she had moved out. See, life stories are hilarious. 'Lisa' was all like: "It explained so much."
In other news, I just put my mother in a taxi to the airport and she's leaving me on a jet plane. I am slightly depressed by this. Not only because, you know, my mother is leaving, but also because I get crazy post vacation depression. And even though I did not actually go anywhere out of the Greater New York Metropolitan Area, I treated this weekend like a nice, crazy, relaxing vacay (in lieu of a nice, crazy, relaxing trip to the beach).
I had a fun filled long weekend with my mother and Naughty Nicki the Kneewalker (an adventure in and of itself).
This is my mother:
This is what she was riding around on:
Only hers had a little pack on the front and a lambs wool knee cover, cause she is classy.
I'm sorry to say the very first thing my mother and I did was go to brunch, wherein there was no BREAKFAST and it was only 11. Our waitress was horrid, we shared a meal, she didn't bring us an extra plate but charged us $3 for it, and she forgot about us for a good 20 minutes before she came to run our credit card. Which she promptly dropped, dropped, and kept walking, before another waiter had to flag her down and give it to her.
During that fiasco, she botched this crotchety old couples order. And they literally yelled at her and left. I want you to imagine this whole scenario spoken by people who cannot hear their own voices unless they yell, and these people wanted to hear the sound of their own voices. Anyway, crotchety couple was not pleased. They wanted breakfast and there was none, until another waiter told them they could have a 'lunch omelette' but it was not on the menu (WHICH NO ONE TOLD US). They ordered egg white omelettes, very clearly (as I can obviously repeat this whole scenario to you), and then the waitress came out with the wrong kind of omelette. The old women was all, "Now. WAIT A MINUTE. This is not an egg white omelette," and the waitress just stood there and kept putting the plates on the table, not offering a solution. That was the end for her. They stormed off in a huff while the crotchety old man said, "NO. I am NOT paying you. This is ridiculous. No breakfast and then when we finally get breakfast it's not even the right kind of omelette!"
I felt marginally bad for her, but then I remembered how she had dropped my mother's credit card on the floor and walked off so anyone passing by could just grab it.
The Adventure's of Mumsy, Naughty Nicki, and I will continue in the next posting. I promise.