I’d Like to Trade My Trade

February 25, 2005


Let beauty fade. I don’t think I care anymore. It will happen soon enough anyway. Men don’t have to worry about this as much, they’re not expected to be pretty. If a woman is no longer young and attractive, you might as well bury her alive. I could have been a model, maybe not Victoria Secret, but I could have made a living with the Sears catalog at least, but I wanted to put my mind to work instead, and it’s proving to be a bad move.

My selected profession is not going well. I’m interning for the Clear Lake Citizen, a very small weekly newspaper for the Houston bay area. Of course I’m not getting paid, but it’s probably for the best since I have no idea what I’m doing more than half the time.

I had an assignment to cover the Kemah city council meeting, and so reluctantly, I did, well, kind of. I took my tape recorder with me because I suck at taking notes. Deciding to rely entirely on my hand-me-down mini recorder, I jotted down only one quote from the mayor, who looked to be enjoying the meeting about as much as myself. I had never been to a city council meeting before, and the only thing I had to draw on was the yellow and brown citizens of Springfield gathering at city hall with mayor Quimbly at the podium waiting to discuss the latest tyranny brought on by Mr. Burns. In reality, city council meetings aren’t nearly as exciting as they are on the Simpsons. It only lasted an hour, but my eyes grew heavy after the first five minutes.

This morning when I arrived at The Citizen for my daily sentence, I was confronted with an awful realization. My hand-me-down recorder was a piece of crap. Nothing on the tape was audible. The mayor’s voice went from sounding like he was recovering from a severe stroke to sounding like one of Alvin’s chipmunks. “I’m screwed,” I thought. “How am I going to write this article?” I had to rely on memory, and for the life of me, I don’t know where my mind was during the meeting. The Simpsons, I guess. I sat in front on the computer, which still ran on DOS with its black screen and yellow letters, wracking my brain for something to write about. I began my lead knowing that it would be dropped by the editor:

“In the midst of a buzzing fire alarm, sick council members and broken microphones, the Kemah city council meeting trudged forward.”

I couldn’t remember what was voted on or what their final decisions were, but I came up with something to turn in to the editor, and I don’t even know if it’s accurate. I am a horrible journalist, but I blame my incompetent school for that.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist