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Intern Horrors: CSI Isn't That Realistic? Gasp!

Illustration for article titled Intern Horrors: emCSI/em Isnt That Realistic? Gasp!

Welcome to Intern Horrors, the weekly feature wherein pluck-filled, enthusiastic apprentices describe their first experiences with the soul-crushing reality of 9-to-5 jobs. This week: logging evidence in a crime lab, an overweight voyeur, and a pathological liar.


Gil starts things off:

I did an internship at a State Crime Lab the summer before my undergrad senior year. It was unpaid because it was for credit hours, but it was pretty cool. Shockingly nothing like CSI at all, there were no Marg Helgenberger to be found. As an intern I was not surprised to be allowed to touch/do very little, as most of this shit was for murder/rape cases, and having an intern handle anything was obviously not good for presenting the evidence in court. So my last day there my boss/adviser tells me that she is going to let me actually work some evidence by myself. I was obviously pumped, I figured better late than never. She tells me she is going to get it, she will be right back, its being stored in a special safe, not with the other safe where evidence is normally stored. At this point I figure I am in for weighing a few kilos of pot, or analyzing the purity of cocaine, some bullshit like that. I should have known better.

She comes back with a bag which is basically full of shit. Literally. Its a typical evidence bag, full of what looks like something you might see after eating Taco Bell late night after multiple Patron shots, pure liquid shit. In it are 4 "plugs" of "drugs" wrapped in medical tape. Apparently, some guy was going to prison and tried to smuggle in some "drugs" with him. The guards noticed him walking funny, figured out what was up, and gave him a laxative, and rather than collect the "plugs" when they came out, they told him to shit into the bag, which he did. They then sealed it up, with all the extraneous shit inside, and sent it my way. The best part is, I work for a few hours, vomiting in my mouth more than once, only to find out that this son of a bitch has smuggled in pipe tobacco and Tylenol, neither of which is illegal mind you, but obviously not allowed in prison. I got my credit hours. I dont work in a crime lab now.



After freshman year, I took an internship at a political research organization (let's call it Operation Save Democracy) in the middle of bum-fuck Montana. The work was shit: I spent the summer updating a list of elected officials from every city with a population over 29,000 in the country. The down time wasn't that bad: I got wasted pretty much every night (after one epic night with Jack Daniels I set the OSD record by puking 13 times the next day at work) and took trips to Glacier National Park and Vancouver. But this story isn't about menial work or getting drunk; this story is about a man we called P-Diddy.

P-Diddy weighed probably 350 pounds and sounded kinda like Steve Urkel with a southern accent. By any measure, he was a disgusting human. I sat across from him in our office. The smells that came from his workspace were not of this earth. Imagine the worst beershits you have ever had, then imagine they became moldy and stale: this is what Diddy smelled like on a regular basis. One day a few weeks into the summer, Diddy's supervisor made him go take a shower before he could do any work that day. Based on accounts relayed to me by one of his roommates (let's call him Edward), this was one of two showers Diddy took all summer.

All the interns lived in cabins on the organization's property. After a night of heavy drinking in the abandoned rock quarry near the property, Edward and another intern (let's call her Alicia) go back to Edward's cabin and start fooling around. They do a quick check and determine that everyone else in the cabin was asleep. Alicia takes off Edward's pants and goes to work. A few minutes later, Edward looks around the room and sees two glowing eyes staring right at him: Diddy was watching Edward get a BJ. Alicia finishes up and leaves. Immediately, Diddy runs to the bathroom and starts rubbing one out. Edward heard every horrific elephant grunt of Diddy's pleasure. I think it permanently scarred him.

Finally, an anonymous story about a future lawyer:

I've worked at a public defender's office in Georgia since 2007; I'm one of the lawyers you get after being arrested if you can't afford one. There's a law school nearby who often loans us 3L's (people in their third, and final, year of law school) as law clerks. Law clerks are what we call interns here. I don't know why. Anyway, my second year here was my first year to be here on the day when the clerks started. Our office is organized into different divisions based upon the type of crime. I work in the property division which is the busiest, but also least interesting division. Our law clerk, let's call him Andy because that's his name, started that day. Let me tell you, he was awful. Besides the normal "think they know everything when they really don't" mentality that clerks have, Andy had another annoying habit: Never showing up. He would tell us the day before when he would be there, and then he wouldn't. (One of his excuses once was, and I swear this is true, that he was feeling "out of sorts.") One of the chief jobs our clerks have is interviewing new clients at the county jail. We have a system set up so that we can send a fax to the jail a half hour before we are going to be there, and they will have our clients (often 5-9 people) in one area to cut down on wasted time waiting for guards to bring the people to the meeting rooms. One day Andy sent this fax and left our office... about an hour later we had a call from the jail asking if Andy was on his way. Apparently he never showed up. It got to the point were we started asking the other interns about it. Did he go to class? Had anyone see him recently? As it turns out, no. No one had seen him in a while. We actually starting fearing for his safety, so we wrote an e-mail to him, which was the limit of our caring. E-mail. He responded with this, cut and pasted from my e-mail, just a few redactions:

[Property Division Supervisor],

I have not quit law school. Whoever said that is an ignorant gossip whom you should not only never confide in, but should be reprimanded for spreading such ridiculous rumors in the office.

I intend on graduating in May 2009, getting married in June 2009, taking the bar in July 2009, and hopefully working at the [Redacted] Circuit Public Defender's Office for at least the next ten years.

Feel free to tell anyone my intentions.


That would have been a bit over the line as a reply if he had just sent it to us in the Property Division; however, he took this chance to do more than the minimum for the first and I assume only time in his life, he didn't just send it to those of us in the Property Division, he sent it to everyone in the entire office. The wrap-up — Apparently it is impossible to get fired as an intern at this office as he still got credit for never being here nor doing any work. He never got a job here, and never will. Also his chances of getting a job anywhere are hindered by two things: (1) asking to use my supervisor as a reference, and (2) failing the bar in 2009. I should point out I'm not sure if he actively failed. It is possible he just didn't show up.


Note to self: Never use a public defender in [Redacted].

Were you ever an intern pining for the chance to become an entry-level superstar? Or maybe you had to deal with a real lame-brain intern? Send in your stories with the subject line: Intern Horrors. They don't even have to be poop-related.


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