by Roman Koidl
The Eternal Intern
by
Roman Koidl
All rights reserved.
Copyright© 2013 by Roman Koidl
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
To Mom
Thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams
Acknowledgments
This book has been long time in the making. Not that it was hard to write but it was hard to find the motivation to write. A lot of people want to write a book and leave a legacy. But many, including me, don’t like the idea of working hard for it. For that reason, I want to thank my mom, as you can read on the previous page, for pushing me to write and my dad for not pushing me into any job as I was unemployed and waiting on the right gig. I also want to thank the never ending competition between my brother and me to be the first to publish a book. I want to thank Theresa Harding and Cliff Kuehn for taking time to edit my final draft and give it the needed flow. Many thanks to Linda Akesson for reading an earlier version of this book and not falling asleep doing so.
Lastly, I am grateful for the wealth of feedback I received from family and friends to enhance this book with ideas.
By writing this book I learned, that the enjoyment of living your dreams instead of just dreaming them make the struggles and hard work worth it.
Chapter 1
The chosen one
2 0 0 8
“It is your choice,” the man said laying his arms on the desk in front of him.
“I cannot say right away,” I replied worried and continued “this is a big decision. By when do you need an answer?”
I knew this question could backfire on me. A lot of people were waiting for this chance. It would be a dream job. Maybe not for everyone but for me it would be. I was looking puzzled at the woman sitting next to the man.
“We need a yes or a no now,” the woman pitched in looking at the man like she was seeking allowance to take over the interview.
“I understand,” I replied rubbing my thighs nervously.
When I initially applied for this position I never thought that I would be the chosen one. It all started with a crazy idea after reading a newspaper ad.
“If I take it, when would I have to leave?” I asked considering the offer.
“In 14 days,” the woman replied sharp.
Many thoughts flashed through my head. I was turning my head to the window. A plane lifting off into the air caught my attention. I wondered where the plane was heading to. Always when I see a plane I imagine it going to a tropical destination. People living in hot countries must be thinking the opposite. If I took this job I would be sitting in one of those planes heading to a new life.
“And?” the man pitched in interrupting my day dreaming.
“Please walk me through the next two years,” I asked trying to buy more time.
“Well, I believe Marsha would be the best person to answer that question,” the man said looking at the woman.
She nodded, took a breath and smiled at me.
“In two weeks you would fly to Tokyo where you would meet the rest of the team,” she started to explain.
“Once there you would be living in a corporate apartment with three other teammates. For the next six months you would be trained in Japanese and learn the in and outs of the job. After that you would work from our hub in Tokyo for the following 18 months. Then, after the two years have passed, your contract would be reviewed and either renewed or terminated," she explained dry.
"I see. When would I be able to return home and work from here?" I asked.
"After the two years are over and you and we decide to renew the contract, you would have the privilege to either stay in Tokyo or come back and work from our hub here," she said.
I was feeling doubt and fear. Maybe I would never get this chance again. I always wanted to work abroad, learn a new language and become familiar with a different culture. But I am not sure if I am willing to take that risk now after slowly getting my life in order.
The next plane was preparing for take off as it was rolling out onto the airfield. The weather looked grim and grey. I felt that it was about to rain at any moment.
Chapter 2
Dreams
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As a very young boy I had many, many dreams. Pilot, President of the United States, or astronaut was never one of them. No wait. Astronaut, do I have to intern for that?
I hope you see my dilemma. I just wanted to follow my dreams and get paid for it. Isn't that what everybody wants? A regular life with a house, a car, maybe a dog (I'm not really crazy about cats), and eventually some kids. Well, sure, I do want a wife as well. Otherwise it couldn’t be fun if I didn’t have someone complaining all the time. My dad somehow made it and lived his dream. He went to school, studied and got a job straight thereafter. He actually could choose among three jobs. If I look at myself, all I can choose is if I want milk or water for breakfast. Choose a job? I wish. And the best of all, my dad sincerely loves his job. He is an electrical engineer. It doesn't sound too sexy, but it fulfills him and essentially that is what we all want, doing something that fulfills us.
Why then does it have to be so hard for me?
I always knew I wanted to become a TV host. But with me, about three billion others shared the same dream. And there are not that many TV stations out there let me tell you.
I was about eight as I realized that becoming a TV host must be extremely cool. I have to blame “The Smurfs” for that idea.
I loved “The Smurfs”. I got up every single day at seven o'clock in the morning, even on Sundays. I stumbled out of my bed, walked down the narrow stairs and opened the glass door of the living room, and there was my daily occupation, waiting for me. The TV. I literally sat right in front of it. A reason I must be wearing glasses now.
At that age I didn't realize the seriousness of daily life. I actually still don't.
I grew up in Germany. The economy was booming in the late 80's and like most others, I had a very fulfilling childhood with all the toys and love and support of my parents. As I grew a little older, I was about fourteen, I still didn't give up on my dream of becoming a TV host. But my dreams have developed since then. I also wanted to become an actor. Well, I never really did anything for it despite dreaming of it.
One Thursday night my dad was eating his soup and he called me over to him. I set my Game Boy aside, jumped off the old brown leather couch and walked over to the dining table. He asked me what I wanted to do in the future as I was taking a seat opposite to him. I looked at him as he was shoveling his spoon into the dish.
“I want to be an actor,” I said not mentioning the TV host dream to him. My father – a humble but very direct and honest man – slurped his soup, looked me directly in the eye and said “Patrick, you are fourteen years of age and you were never a member of the theater group at your school. You haven't even seen a theater from the inside. Honestly, you will never become an actor. It’s too late”.
My eyes opened rapidly out of shock.
That comment went straight to my heart. It actually still hurts me today. I looked down to the ground, ashamed about the fact that I couldn't stand up and say “Yes, I am a member of the theater group. I am the best in the group”.
He was right. I just talked about it but didn’t follow through on it. Now, years later, he refuses to believe that he has ever said anything like that. But as he said it I thought to myself that I have to become one now, only to prove him wrong. I dropped tha
t grudge quite soon. The dream of becoming a TV host was still stuck to my brain like a chewing gum to a shoe sole. And the chance to start that career was just waiting for me. A year later, we had a school project that required us to intern with a company of our choice for three weeks. Most of my classmates didn't really care about it and interned for the carpenter or at the local grocery store. I thought that was boring and sooo normal. I wanted something that would make me the main topic in class; that would make me stand out. The kid everybody admires. I thought that I had to do something cool.
My dad loved the radio. He listens to it every minute of the day. If you enter the house after he has been there alone for a while you would have the radio blaring in every single room that had one. And thanks to his radio affinity, there was one in his office, all three bathrooms, the living room, and my parent’s bedroom. A room without a radio didn't exist in our home.
One day, after knowing I wanted to try my luck at one of the local radio stations, I summoned all of my confidence and called a local broadcaster.
“Hello, do you- ahem, we have a-a-an internship program at school and I wanted to ask, that, ahem, maybe, umm, can I do it at your station?”
“Sure,” a pleasant and deep elderly male voice replied. “Send us a cover letter and we will get back to you.”
I was so excited. Not only that I made that phone call. They even wanted me to send them my cover letter. But how in the heck do you do that? At 15 you don’t get to write that many. Luckily enough my school teacher showed me.
I can still remember the moment as I stood in front of the letter box ready to mail out my first job application, and sadly enough, not my last. It reached up to my hip. I was standing there with the envelope. I closed my eyes and started to send a little prayer up to the heavens. At that moment, I noticed my Catholic upbringing.
After a few seconds I opened my eyes, kissed the envelope and shoved it down the opening. A weird feeling. At that point I felt already like a winner. The world was mine. To celebrate the day I went to the store and bought myself some sweets with the money my mother gave me. What a life.
From that day on I was looking at our mail box every day. We didn't have internet at that time, yet. So the answer had to come by mail. About three weeks after I applied for my first internship in my life and sadly enough not for my last, my mom came in and put a little white envelope on the kitchen table right in front of me. I looked up from my biology school book. Nervously, I pushed my homework to the side and reached for the envelope. She smiled at me. “Go on, open it!”.
I was nervous, as I wasn't sure of what to expect. Did they accept me or turn me down? Would I be able to compensate such a failure in life? I was bragging for weeks in school about the upcoming internship. Even though I didn't know if I would be getting it, I was telling everyone that I had it already. I was Mr. Cool Guy.
I was shivering out of excitement. I ripped open the side, tearing the letter slightly, pulled it out and read:
Dear Patrick. We would like to invite you to start your internship with our radio station on Monday the 15th of March. Please report to Ms. Miller in room 305 by 9 am.
We are looking forward to working with you.
Looking at the big grin on my face my mom knew what happened.
“Congratulations, Patrick. I never had any doubts.”
I thought I was the luckiest, and for sure the coolest, kid in class by having this internship lined up. In my eyes all my other classmates were losers that would never make it in life. In fact they did. Most of them own a house and two cars by now and can afford to have children. I can't even afford a bike. I should have gone for the carpenter internship. Looking back on my life, I made a lot of mistakes.
Chapter 2
The beginning of the end
I was fifteen as I started my first internship. At that time I was full of energy and joy for the job. Give me a break, it was my first internship, how the heck could I have possibly known that this is only the beginning of the end.
I started on a Monday. It was a sunny warm day in March. The radio station was about thirty minutes away from my house. It was in the heart of the city. THE CITY, not the suburbs. Alone that fact was exciting enough for me. I had to take the train with all the white collar people in their suits and ties. I felt important.
One of my first tasks at the station was to interview school kids about Michael Jackson. They were just about four or five years younger than me, but I was very nervous. I went to the school as the kids were about to leave for home. I entered the school yard and was able to meet the kids as they were just getting out through the main entrance of the building. I stopped in the middle of the yard, took a deep breath and whispered to myself “Okay Patrick, here we go, this is what you always wanted to do. Now go and write history.” I must admit, I do tend to be a little melodramatic at times.
I approached the little kids, there were about fifteen or twenty of them, and switched the microphone on. As soon as I started to talk to the kids I felt extremely relieved. It was actually fun. All the tension I created for myself was suddenly gone. You must understand, even interviewing people that still get dressed by their mothers can be very nerve-racking. Just as I was about to leave the school one of the boys I interviewed approached me. He took his green backpack off his shoulders, put it in front of his feet, opened it and got a white sheet of paper and a blue pen with a ridiculous but kind of cool Spider-man picture on it out. He raised them in my direction.
“Would you give me a signature, Sir?,” he asks me politely but with a nervous vibration in his voice.
“Sure,” I replied astonished and somehow proud.
Look at me. I'm fifteen, I always wanted to be famous and here I am now, giving my first fan an autograph. Well in my eyes he was a fan.
I gave him what he asked for, patted his blond head of hair and said with full but still kind of high-pitched voice “Here you go son. Keep it in a safe place, soon it will be worth some money.”
I smiled, daydreaming that if there is one fan, there will be more. The kid looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said “Thanks Sir, my mom will be happy about this. She always said that I should get the name of the stranger I am talking to”.
“Why?” I asked surprised.
“Well, she always says I shouldn't talk to strangers but if I have to, I should get their name for my protection”.
Well, a smart mother, I thought to myself.
“Oh, ok. Well then, ahem, give it to your mom,” I confirmed, blushing.
We all start small. But I was happy anyways. I felt that there was so much waiting for me out there. Sooo much. Oh, boy was I sooo wrong.
The internship ended as quickly as it started. I spent most of my time sending letters to a girl in England I met the summer before at a wedding. I was lying literally about nearly everything in the letter. She was nineteen and I pretended I was nineteen as well. I still haven't figured out how one can mistake a nineteen year old with a fifteen year old braces-wearing chump with big yellow spots on his forehead and no sign of facial hair whatsoever. I actually looked more like twelve.
The years went by and that first radio internship really created the fever in me to make it in this industry. My dad always brought magazines home that he pinched from the doctor’s office. There was always a big range of topics. Sports, cars, world news, and science, to name a few. But now and then there was this magazine among them that had its editorial office in my city. I was always looking at it again and again. It was about the lifestyle in the city. It reported about the new clubs that just opened, which restaurants were trendy, and which artist released his new album. Topics that moved the world. Well, topics which moved my world so much that I applied for an internship.
About two weeks later, it was a cloudy summer day in June, I received a call from a man named Marc.
“Hello Patrick, this is Marc Harper from the Citylights Magazine speaking. I got your resume and I liked what I read. Can you come o
ver to the office for an interview?” the voice sounded very pleasant but still quite young.
“Sure Mr. Harper, I'd love to.”
Right at that moment as these words left my lips, my mom yelled from downstairs up to my room “PARTICK! PATRICK! DO YOU HAVE ANY DIRTY UNDERWEAR? I AM ABOUT TO WASH WHITES.”
I didn't know what to do. I was jumping around in my room pressing my hand against the mouthpiece of the phone, hoping that Marc wouldn't hear anything. I don't really know why I was jumping. Some weird kind of panic reaction.
”PATRICK, DO YOU HEAR ME? PATRICK? ANSWER YOUR MOTHER!!!”
The other side of the phone line remained silent. I was so ashamed. Marc must have heard it. I pressed my hand even harder against the speaker and screamed through my open door that I was on the phone. My mother didn't reply. I removed my hand from the phone waiting about two seconds and asked very firmly when I can come for the interview.
“Would next Monday at 4 p.m. be ok with you?“.
I acknowledged the time and was delighted and relieved that he must not have heard my mother’s yelling.
As the day of the interview arrived I put on my best jeans, shaved the little hair I had on my face and jumped on my bike. That wasn't the best idea. Being all sweaty at an interview doesn't give you the additional points you need to get the gig. The building was on the outskirts of an industrial park right beside a large green field. It was very peaceful out here. As I walked up to the second floor where the office was located, I tried to think of what he might ask me. As I entered the large office, I saw Marc sitting opposite to the entrance. A short, extremely thin man behind a large desk. He didn't look a day older than twenty-five. Later, I found out that he was actually thirty four, only drank two pints of milk a day and ate nothing else than soup. And if he wasn't in the office, he was sun bathing his ridiculously orange skin in a tanning studio. He worked like a mad man. He got to the office at 7 a.m. and left around 11 p.m. Every day of the week. Now that is what I call commitment. He wore a long-sleeved white sweater and a pair of blue jeans. In the two years I worked for him I never saw him dressed in anything else but that. Either he only had white long sleeved sweaters and blue jeans in his wardrobe or he always wore the same. I never found out.