I did a six-monthstint as a sort of intern in the marketing department of one of the 'big two' (for small values of 'big') Northern Irish newspapers when I was at uni. They didn't have office space for me so they stuck me in a cubby-hole out the back, where my only company was a crashingly dim metaller from west Belfast who had a crap tattoo of himself doing hot knives on his left arm with 'WICKED HEAD' under it.
The crappy bits were (a) I hated the job; (b) my boss was a cunt; (c) I had to share a typewriter with the boss's secretary, which meant nipping up to her office every twenty minutes to physically carry it back to my den, then taking it back ten minutes later when she needed it; (d) at one point I had to drive around all six counties of NI measuring the distances between newsagents.
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Mon 10 Nov 2003, 16:07,
archived)
The crappy bits were (a) I hated the job; (b) my boss was a cunt; (c) I had to share a typewriter with the boss's secretary, which meant nipping up to her office every twenty minutes to physically carry it back to my den, then taking it back ten minutes later when she needed it; (d) at one point I had to drive around all six counties of NI measuring the distances between newsagents.