Work Experience (or Internships, as I believe they are also called)

Gimme that tub of ice cream, I need a treat.

And while we’re on the topic of food (if you can count delicious, delicious ice cream coated with chocolate syrup as “food”), let me tell you about what my week was made of.

  • a dash of early mornings
  • a dollop of forgotten meetings
  • four cups of way-too-much-walking
  • one hundred and eleven pages of Tess of the D’Urbervilles, and finally
  • countless of awkward conversations and smiles

Marry Poppins once said that a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down… but you know what? I’ve consumed way too much sugar over the past week, I can never look at another Cadbury miniroll again. (It still won’t stop me from snacking on them, though.)

So basically, my regular schedule of going to school, doing homework and whiling away the hours on the Internet has been turned topsy-turvy by this thing called WORK EXPERIENCE. Yes, all the students in my year at school were assigned two weeks’ worth of Work Experience at any place we chose to apply to.

I wanted to work for a publishing company somewhere in London (cough*RandomHouseGroup*cough), but for some reason that didn’t work out. Instead, a primary school accepted me, which sounded like a good idea at the time, mainly because I was so relieved to have been able to find a placement. Don’t get me wrong — I absolutely adore my placement. I’m learning a lot and I quite enjoy having “colleagues” even though they’re more than twice my age. I enjoy eating lunch in a staff room, reading either Tess of the D’Urbervilles or The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, depending on my mood. But honestly, does the school have to be so. damn. far. away?!

The distance from the school to where I live is approximately two miles. And guess what — I don’t drive, nor do I even have a bike. Having roughly timed myself for the past five days (yes, I do things like that), I’ve worked out that I spend forty five minutes walking endlessly from home to workplace at seven thirty in the morning, and three in the afternoon. By the time I get home, I’m just about ready to collapse on the bed and just die.

I mean, come onTwo miles. Coming from the girl who takes the odd staircase instead of the escalator and considers that as exercise, that it quite a lot.

But quite enough whining. I’ve signed up for this and I’m seeing it through. I’ve got one more week to go. I can do this, right? Who knows, maybe I just might go into teaching. Both my grandparents were teachers once, and both were quite successful in their careers. They both served their own terms as principals at the same school, which is very idyllic now that I think about it.

Huh.

Over and out.

2 thoughts on “Work Experience (or Internships, as I believe they are also called)

  1. I remember my own work experience – I chose to be placed at my mother’s office because (at the time) I thought I wanted to be a credit controller like her.

    It was hilarious because her colleagues were awesome, as were some of the customers – and the guy who operated the ice cream van was Very Tasty. I was only allowed to meet him once though because he fancied me as well and I was only sixteen (although I easily looked eighteen and he probably thought I was a college student instead of being not quite a school leaver)!

    • I doubt my work experience will be as exciting as yours! Though, just today one of the parent volunteers mistook me as a fellow volunteer — now I know the kids at Reception are little, and standing in a sea of them can mess with your head a bit, but come on! I’m as tall as a Year 4 student (and believe me, I’ve checked >_<)… safe to say, it was a very awkward conversation.

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