Ivy Years

The grocery clerk glanced at me with amusement and a hint of skepticism. I had just propped down on the checkout conveyor belt in front of her an interesting collection of items: 1 bowl, 1 spoon, 1 cup, 1 small towel, 1 roll of toilet paper, 2 plastic checkered table sheets (like those at cheap Chinese restaurants), a giant package of instant noodles, and a mosquito net.

To my dismay, the clerk explained to me that this supermarket had yet to install card-swipe machines. Cash only. I relented and fumbled through the unfamiliar wad of bills stuffed in my wallet,  handed her the right change, and went home.

A couple hours of frantic housework later, everything was in place in my tiny literally-one-room apartment. My mosquito net was propped up with plastic strings tied to nails driven into the random corners of the room (left behind by the previous apartment occupant). The tradeoff for not waking up with half a dozen mosquito bites was having to avoid all the strings that haphazardly cross my room – a fair bargain, I think.

Next, I got to work on the curtains. Remember those checkered plastic Chinese restaurant table cloths? Great curtains. And their functions don’t stop there – they also make great bathroom doors! So the set-up of the apartment is that I have one bedroom, and my landlord has her bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen on the OTHER side of the hallway. Basically, if I need to use the bathroom, I would have to open my door, lock it, open her door, lock it, go to the bathroom, open her door, lock it, and unlock my door. The icing on the cake is that the sliding door of the bathroom does not close, at all. Table cloth to the rescue!

Another peculiar thing I noticed is that many Chinese people don’t believe in mattresses. For the first couple of nights before I asked my landlord for a cotton pad, I was sleeping on a hard bed frame and developing back issues at the tender age of nineteen.

Other than that, I learned that duct tape truly solves all your problems and that there’s no need to buy brooms when one’s neighbor leaves a broom in the hallway (hey, it’s a Communist country, people are obligated to share their resources… or something like that).

Frugal intern score: A+
Housewife score: D-

This makes me wonder how my fellow interns are doing in various corners of the world. Are you living in some fancy studio on the Upper West Side or downtown Vancouver? An NYU/UBC dorm shared with three other people? A leaky apartment in the Bronx? Or more likely, commuting from Jersey or Queen’s? I doubt you guys make dinner every night. How does it feel going from dining hall food in Ithaca to business lunches with bankers in the financial district? I would say that, save the exception of those currently slaving away in a cubicle or a testosterone-filled trade floor for corporate monoliths, most interns are paid somewhere near minimum wage, or nothing at all (I guess I lucked out with an awesome job overseas which I love, yes, I’m talking to you boss-who-reads-this-blog).

So fellow interns, how are you doing? What (wonderful/horrific) summer stories are you willing to share?