The Hollywood Intern: Part 5-Sitting There isn’t Free

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The brilliantly bold and golden ball was streaming its warm rays of light directly into my face as I drove down the overcrowded highway. I had my sunglasses on, the car visor down and in place, and a strip of tint on the very top of my car’s windshield but I was still incredibly blinded by the Southern California sunset. I watched it weave in and out of the passing trees and peak out in-between Los Angeles’ city skyline as I cruised down the 101, and it was then on my way back to my uncle’s house sliding swiftly into the slowly setting summer sun that I realized that my situation was shifting.

The few weeks of my internship were intense for me, but they were both evolving into something that was entirely more doable than the nonstop orgy of stress and confusion. The first internship, which was closer to my uncle’s house, was getting back to its normal schedule, but I had never actually experienced it due to my starting a couple of weeks later than everyone else because I was still in school. I had also gotten to know a lot of the other employees at the second internship, which was located more in the middle of Los Angeles, and I was finally in a place where I didn’t feel like I was going to [kill anyone] or find myself in [the most awkward of situations]. I was getting more comfortable dealing with the traffic and all of the strange turning lanes and complicated stop lights and I found myself not getting lost as much when I tried to find the nearest Target.

I had come to the realization that, if I was offered a job after completing the second internship, I would jump on the first chance that I got to weasel my way in there. It was the internship with more writing and creativity involved, and I absolutely loved how everything was going. I realized that the other internship wasn’t probably going to get me anywhere except for it just becoming another reference to name on my resume. It was becoming fun, and I loved the issues that they talked about when they filmed their online news show, but there was nowhere for me to go in that particular company as far as a job would go.

I was reminded of the real reason of why I was in this crazy city in the first place, and with that reminder (and with the extra time I had on my hands now that I didn’t have a job) I decided to start sneaking into Barnes and Nobles without paying for anything and start writing again.

Every Monday and Wednesday I would drive from my second internship and walk all the way around the store before sitting around the corner and into one of the seats where the Starbucks customers were only aloud to sit. When there weren’t enough chairs around the corner, and the only open one was located right in front of the cash register, I was forced to order the cheapest thing that they offered and type angrily at the small round café tables because I was spending money that wasn’t planning on growing anytime soon.

“Miss, can I get anything started for you?” a Starbucks employee would ask me.

“Oh, no thank you. Not right now.” I would respond.

I got terrible death stares from all the other patrons who had their large bubbling hot coffees sitting in front of their faces stuffed inside their newly bought copies of “50 Shades of Grey,” and I swear my area of the Starbucks’ floor was spotless before I quickly got up and left after avoiding death glares for an hour and a half.

I would have also went to the library if everyone and their mother wasn’t parking up and down along the street after spilling out of the tiny public parking lot right in front of the tiny library, and I wasn’t about to go to Los Angeles’ main library Downtown in the peak of traffic.

I was stuck with dodging baristas at the Starbucks inside the overly air-conditioned store until I felt like it was safe enough to go back to my air mattress. It was definitely a great opportunity to work on my cardio and build up my running endurance, and there was no way that I would ever get sweaty inside the bookstore that housed a miniature version of Antarctica.

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