On Internships

Applying for things is frustrating. I’ve known this for years. I didn’t have my first part-time summer job until I was in college because applying for things is so frustrating to me. I’m anxious about putting myself out there for critique. I physically squirm at the thought of someone looking over a list of my work experience and assuming that they know all there is to know about what I’ve accomplished, before they’ve even met me.

For many of the jobs I’ve applied for, there are quantitative requirements — so many years of experience in a given job or field, mostly. As a rather young grad, I don’t have a lot of experience in anything yet. This limits me to entry-level jobs. I’m competing against other youngsters in the same predicament, as well as more-qualified people my age. Frustration abounds.

In addition to part-time customer service work, which won’t necessarily allow me to use the skills I went to school for, the only option is to find an internship. I don’t even care if it’s paid, I just want the experience. I’m essentially volunteering, so that I can add something relevant to my resumé and not feel like a complete waste of space anymore.

But, remember what I said before? About quantitative requirements? The one that I usually see tacked onto internship descriptions involves enrollment in an accredited post-secondary institution. What really stings is that it’s usually followed up with “graduates will not be considered.” (Sometimes in bold. Ouch. Assume I can’t read, why don’t you?)

Perhaps I’m the only one vexed by this. If you think that I won’t do a job well for free, just because I’m not getting credit for it, you’re several shades of wrong. If it’s relevant to my area of study, interests, and general life goals, I’m probably more interested in it than the average college student would be.

In my first few years of school, I doubt any instructors ever mentioned internships as more than a passing thought, like an extracurricular: just another thing to add variety to your transcript. To be fair, I hadn’t settled in a major yet, and there wasn’t exactly a need for interns in the fields I was exploring. It wasn’t until I started taking classes for my certificate in earnest that I learned how valuable an internship could be. By that time, I was only able to intern for one semester, with a regional sports magazine called Pittsburgh Sports Report. If nothing else, this foray into sports writing taught me that I prefer a structured, nine-to-five work environment. All of the work for the internship was submitted electronically. I was able to squeeze writing assignments in between class papers and project writeups, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t giving the sports assignments the right amount of attention. I was finishing my last year of college, and had several thousand words to write for each of my other classes, not to mention the analysis of my internship assignments, which amounted to several thousand more words. (My fingers itch at the thought.)

Is that a lame excuse on my part? Maybe. But I think the same thing that I started to think in the 10th grade: maybe I’m just not cut out for “hard journalism.” (My AP English teacher would probably agree with me on that one.)

So, yes. The internship taught me something. But am I at a disadvantage because I only got one semester of experience?

According to several opinions I’ve encountered lately, probably.

But if internships are supposed to give students experience in real-world jobs, and I want/need that experience just as much as a student applying for the same position, why should I be at a disadvantage because I’ve already graduated?

The answer is probably because, once I’ve graduated, it’s expected that I’m trying to make my own way, and therefore want to be paid.

Listen, world. I thought you’d know by now that stereotypes aren’t cool. It’s safe to assume that I wouldn’t want the job unless you pay me for it, but it’s not accurate to assume that all graduates are like that.

Does the fact that I’m not enrolled in a university program mean that I’m less likely to show up on time for work? No.

Does the fact that I’m not getting paid to do what I’ve been hired to do mean that I’m unhappy to do it? No.

If I’m enthusiastic about the work and the organization, it’s mutually beneficial, monetary compensation be damned. If I’m taking part in a real work environment that benefits from my presence, I’m not going to care about a paycheck.

Perhaps that’s just how I’m wired.