EDITOR: Morning and welcome aboard. Take a seat.
INTERN: Hey, this is some office.
EDITOR: Paid for with blood, sweat and tears this office.
INTERN: Ya pay ya dues, ya get th’ views.
EDITOR: Precisely. Well then…so you want to be a journalist.
INTERN: You betcha.
EDITOR: Marvellous. Look…the way I see it, my job now is to pass on the baton.
EDITOR: I’ve played my part, done my bit. A few more years and it’ll be time to step down, to hang up the old quill…to make room for new people like you.
INTERN: Outta th’ way, coz we’re comin’ t’ stay.
EDITOR: Nicely put.
INTERN: I do lyrics…I’m in a band…sort of.
EDITOR: Wonderful things songs…Now then, your job…your job is to take hold of the baton…here, take this pen…now imagine we’re in a relay running race and this is the baton…Your job is to take hold of this pen I’m passing to you…go on, take…that’s it…okay, now you’ve got the baton…Having seized the baton, your job is to run with it, to head off on the next leg of the race…fearlessly into the future. You follow?
EDITOR: There’s a lot at stake…values, beliefs, principles. At the end of the day, it’s about civilisation as we know it. That, my friend, is the bottom line.
EDITOR: You’ll need to work hard, give it all you’ve got.
INTERN: Hey, bring it on.
EDITOR: If you’re not 100 % committed, forget it…you might as well do PR.
INTERN: 110 %…that’s me, man.
EDITOR: Take my word for it, you’ll make some good friends…and I mean real friends…friends who’ll stick by you through thick and thin, no matter what. If you ever get kidnapped…heaven forbid, but bad things happen, and let’s face it, despite what some people might think, serious journalism is no pub crawl…if you do ever get kidnapped, the kids, the partner, the pets, the plants, whatever, no need to worry…your friends will be there, looking after them…You might be tied up and blindfolded in some godforsaken hole, but at least you’ll have peace of mind.
EDITOR: By the same token, do your job properly and you’ll make some bitter enemies as well…enemies who’d love to see you well and truly dead…after you’ve been well and truly tortured of course. A colleague of mine, don’t let this put you off…tortured for a whole year…then buried alive. Still, if you’re not upsetting somebody, you’re not really a journalist.
EDITOR: So…any questions?
INTERN: Yeah…like…do I get to choose my own office?
EDITOR: Come again?
INTERN: Ain’t no fair, if I got no lair…Hey, how about this one?
INTERN: Man, I’m ready t’ zoom, I’m bustin’ t’ boom…soooo many ideas…Yeah, I’ll make everything black…floor, walls, ceiling, everything really black…it’ll help me, like, focus…black as a bat, I’m tellin’ ya flat…this ain’t fo’ perusal, ain’t takin’ no refusal.
EDITOR: You want to take over my office…and turn it into a black hole?
INTERN: Wow, this is, like, soooo insane…For my weekly column, I thought maybe I’d call it-
EDITOR: Excuse me?
EDITOR: Your weekly column?
INTERN: Yeah…It’d kind of be like a vox pops, only everyone in it’s a weirdo, preferably a real psycho…you know, nutter-type dudes with really way-out opinions…Problem is, psychos, the real dead-set whackos, they can be sort of hard to find.
EDITOR: I know where there’s one right this minute.
INTERN: Yeah?…Hey, a break’d be good…got me acravin’ fo’ th’ roasted bean, life ain’t easy an’ ya gotta be keen…keen or mean?…life ain’t easy an’ ya gotta be mean…man, that’s soooo the case.
EDITOR: I’ll have the pen back, thanks very much.
INTERN: Cain’t dream th’ dream, cain’t make th’ scene, cain’t make th’ words gleam without th’ mud buzz…Hey, like, can you go get us a coffee?
EDITOR: Pen, please…now.
INTERN: Flat white, three sugars…yeah, and a muffin, choc chip…no, make that-
EDITOR: GIVE ME BACK THAT BATON!