The Billionaire and The Virgin Intern
By: Bella Love-Wins
One
Rose
I so wasn’t expecting this crap.
Not at my first fucking real-world job.
The tiny, cramped shredding room is hot and stuffy from hours upon hours of shredding—my only task so far since I started this internship. Everywhere else on the floor of offices and cubicles is perfectly climate controlled. Everywhere but here. Wiping a bead of sweat from my temple with the back of one hand, I take a deep breath. My thumb accidentally slides over the rose white sapphire rose stud earring in my earlobe, and my bone-deep disappointment causes my heart to clench. I hold the stud between my thumb and forefinger, letting my fingertips slide over the grooves and ridges, hoping a few moments with only my great grandmother’s earrings in my thoughts will remind me to appreciate this job, even if it’s one of the biggest let downs of my life.
But I only grow more upset.
My great-grandmother didn’t leave Eastern Europe to come to America and work herself to the bone for over twenty-four years as someone’s nanny and housekeeper for this. Neither did my grandmother as a clerk in a cigar shop. Or my mother who worked in a law firm’s mailroom for years before she passed away, for that matter. Not for me to end up with an MBA while still slaving away as Intern slash Chief Document Destroyer in the innards of Levine Holdings, one of the most reputable corporations in Manhattan. Of course, it’s an internship. It’s not supposed to be flashy or challenging work, but something corporate and respectable to add to my resume under ‘relevant work experience.’ I tell myself every morning that it’s temporary, and that once my assignment is done, I’ll reap the rewards of a damn good education on top of surviving this job.
Right now, I can use a little more reassurance.
A mix of emotions wash over me—uncertainty, regret, desperation—but more than anything, I feel hopelessness start to set in. In six weeks, the massive first payment of my student loan will come due. I still have no idea how or where I’m going to find the money. This unpaid intern gig sure isn’t getting me any closer. It’s unpaid, for fuck’s sake. My part-time job at the Feldman Harrigan’s New York department store makeup counter barely covers my share of rent, let alone food and transportation. No way will it improve my current financial situation.
I take a sip from my open water bottle on the counter beside the shredding machine, my other hand still at my ear. It’s usually so easy for me to find my center and get motivated when I wear these pieces of jewelry, especially on days like today. But right now, all they do are serve as a reminder.
If I can’t make the first installment of my student loan, how will I pay off the rest?
I’m fucked.
A failure with an MBA from Columbia U and a close to hundred and fifty thousand dollar student loan to go with it.
Even the degree taunts me.
The majority of my classmates found great positions in desirable firms and startups around the city.
Correction. The majority of my already wealthy, well-connected classmates did. Some of the nobodies like me, well, just like in our lives were before we started our degrees, we’re scraping the bottle of the barrel. A few smart nobodies lined up real jobs in good companies since last summer. I wish I’d done that too, but wasn’t so lucky.
Because luck is something that doesn’t come my way.
Ever.
I have no one and can only rely on my own effort, hard work, and my unrelenting drive to get ahead.
It’s up to me to turn this internship around.
I’ll figure something out and find the money for this loan payment.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I straighten up and blindly stare at the stark concrete walls. The room is so small, whoever decorated the rest of the offices on this floor didn’t even waste their time adding paint or even a framed photo on the walls. I’m tired from leaning over the shredder for so long, and my day isn’t over yet, but a wave of energy surges through me. This is temporary. I’m smart, ready to put my back into it, and I’ll use every ounce of creativity and ingenuity to make it.
I won’t be a nobody for long.
After I lost my parents in a car accident as a teen, I’ve survived by pushing myself. I remind myself that I got through three years of high school and two college degrees on my own. Sure, I was put into foster care from fifteen years of age until I turned eighteen. I guess I can also be grateful that the family who fostered me were reasonably decent people. They didn’t have an ounce of love to give me, but they also didn’t abuse or mistreat me. Still, I’m in this journey alone. My emotional support system comprises of my two roommates, Dahlia and Emily. But they too are struggling to make ends meet, just like me. So while we can encourage and motivate and inspire one another, financially, I have to figure out this student loan shit by myself.
