“I’d been hoping to shadow a writer for a show on a major network, [and] I was looking for some hands-on experience to round out a rather theoretical film school education, and hoped to gain some as an intern on [his] show,” writes Andrea Janes in the N.Y. Press‘s film issue. But this writer would come running onto set screaming, ‘There’s no Diet Coke in the fridge! Hello!? Interns!’ That’s when I questioned what I was getting into by entering this field. I wanted to pay my dues to figure out the industry, but on this particular show, interns’ primary duties consisted of sorting the mail and stocking the fridge.” There is nothing more tedious than an intelligent younger person looking to gain a foothold by interning who doesn’t get it and and in fact gets all surly and offended when people expect him/her to do drone-work. People who get it — who don’t have any problem with shit work because they know the truth of Jean Anouilh’s words in Becket, which is that “honor lies in the man, my prince, not in the towel” — are always the ones who move up. Interns have to be bushy-tailed, period. That’s the job. And if they aren’t…sack ’em!