Dream vs. Reality: Interning at O/B
Does the job live up to the hype?
Every year, college students and aspiring young professionals seek out internships to beef up their resumes, satisfy degree requirements, and dip their toes in the occupational water. Their experiences can range from transformative to mind-numbing. Some interns may find themselves doing hands-on meaningful work, while others are nothing more than glorified water boys. However, for those in the know, one opportunity stands out above the rest—interning at Outside Bozeman. Local acclaim, fringe benefits, free gear, and a no-nonsense workplace—what’s not to love? But is interning under the infamous Mike England all it’s cracked up to be? Let’s find out.
On the last day, there’s a barbeque in your honor, and on your way out, a recently single coworker asks coyly if you’d “like to take this party elsewhere.”
Dream
After breezing through an interview, you land one of the most coveted positions in the valley: an editorial internship with O/B. Your mentors and parents are proud and your peers are envious. On the first day, you’re given a tour of the office, the Treasure Chamber, and a rundown on basic protocol. The rules are cut and dry, and Mike’s expectations are clear. You spend the afternoon leisurely perusing past magazine issues and thinking of what schedule will work best. Two hours here, two hours there, work from home that day, and take Fridays and Mondays off for mountain expeditions. No one objects. Proving your worth is easy around the office, and menial assignments are quickly replaced with responsibilities like writing a feature-length investigative article, spearheading an entire copywriting campaign, or photographing (a.k.a., fishing) the salmonfly hatch on the Madison. While on assignment, you and the other intern form a deep and immediate bond, and you’ve got Mike’s credit card to cover beers afterward. You’d heard that O/B internships were difficult, but this job is a breeze. Everyone in the office is captivated by your cultural knowledge and editorial prowess, and your insight is highly sought after even from the paid staff. You spend the better part of each day hiking, biking, and boating, and the better part of the night shackin’ up with hotties you met at the trailhead, the gorgeous aforementioned photo intern, or sophisticated 30-year-olds from the bar—all of whom think being a writer is “soooo sexy.” On top of that, your garage is packed full with thousand of dollars’ worth of gear, apparel, and equipment from product reviews—what a deal! The three-month internship flies by, and a week after your first issue goes to print, National Geographic calls for permission to reprint your article. You also can’t keep the recruiters off your back: Outside, Field & Stream, Bugle, and Backcountry, just to name a few. With a commendatory letter of reference from Mike, the world is your oyster. On the last day, there’s a barbeque in your honor, and on your way out, a recently single coworker asks coyly if you’d “like to take this party elsewhere.” Without a doubt, interning at O/B was the best decision you ever made.
You quickly realize that a “good day” at the office means only three public scoldings instead of the normal outburst of ten.
Reality
Mike’s first interview question catches you off guard: “What’s with all these grown men carrying yoga mats in public?” After three more hours of questioning along similar lines—with no mention of writing, editing, or marketing—you’re offered the position (though you later realize there were no other applicants). No surprise there: who would willingly subject himself to this hellish torment? Verbal lashings are a daily affair, and you’re called names you haven’t heard since middle school. On top of that, you easily spend 20 hours or more at the office each week—though you only agreed to ten—and five of them are spent atoning or apologizing for mistakes you didn’t know you made. The paid staff—who seemed cool, young, and progressive—turn out to be jaded from years of getting their own asses chewed to the bone. Soon, you realize that a “good day” at the office means only three public scoldings instead of the normal outburst of ten. As for the product reviews, you’re given a box of organic dog treats (you don’t even have a dog), and the only assignment you’re entrusted with is photographing an electric storm atop Emigrant Peak. Despite barely escaping with your life, there’s not an iota of sympathy from Mike, as you failed to procure any useful images and broke a loaner camera in the process. Everyone now thinks you’re a pansy, and you’ve gotta work overtime to “pay back” the company for destruction of property. Trying to balance school, a part-time job, and the ever-increasing obligation of unpaid labor, you forgo your passions and weeks have passed since you’ve last gotten outside—or had sex for that matter. You wake up most nights in a cold sweat, screaming “OMIT NEEDLESS WORDS!” and your increasingly distant partner refuses to spend the night. The three-month ordeal drags on seemingly forever, and at the exit interview you’re further reminded of all your shortcomings and failures. But you do get to pick out one item from the Treasure Chamber… which is a measly selection of cheap booze and random junk no one else wanted. You sit alone that night drinking whiskey, scrolling through job postings, and slowly realizing that the only things you’re qualified to do now are intern for a real publication, enlist in the army, or keep slaving away for Mike. Without a doubt, interning at O/B was the stupidest decision you’ve ever made.
