It seemed to start with a little tingle to my senses - a softly registered decibel perhaps - and gradually the colours started to fill the crammed and plastic landscape around me. A middle-aged lady to my left darted the mouse across the computer screen, highlighted a small length of text and hit a button, deleting the selection. The peculiar but very familiar practice of e-mail replying without the apparently distasteful RE: prefix. I started scanning the office. To my right, a young, boyish-looking girl was deftly maneuvering between a few internet explorer windows with the alternate-tab keys, one of which I could pick out even with a fraction of a second to be a blog. Probably a honed skill from needing to juggle between work and illegal entertainment.
The air was filled almost subliminally with the haphazard sound of the scrambling of fingers over keyboards, punctuated once in a while with something else equally mundane, like the stapling of paper. This squarish farm of cubicles was abuzz with the echoes of activity beneath its unmoving exterior.
The time was 1046h. I'd entered the building at 0815h and had went through two hours of briefing, and it felt as though my mind had just woken up, all the while nestled in a bed on legs that had been merely lumbering around on autopilot.
This is it. Time to get used to 6.00A.M.s out of the sack. Time for ninety-minute traveling every weekday morning. TIME FOR INTERNSHIP!
"Every day is President's Day when you have an intern!"
- David Letterman
Papa Roach - Lifeline