Sasha Brown

• Intern Diary Part 3 — The Ultimate Blueprint Catastrophe • Today was supposed to be simple: deliver the blueprints for the new warehouse to Mr. Grumpy. SIMPLE! Ha. Apparently, the universe thinks I deserve chaos. I had my coffee in one hand and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the other—multitasking like a “responsible adult.” Or so I thought. Of course, that was my first mistake. Halfway down the hallway, my elbow caught a chair. Coffee flew through the air like some caffeinated rocket, and my sandwich—oh, my poor sandwich—decided to leap from my grasp in perfect slow motion. Brown and red splattered across the blueprints in what I can only describe as modern art gone horribly wrong. Cue the internal screaming. Cue the panicked shuffling into Mr. Grumpy’s office, blueprints wobbling and sticky coffee and jelly dripping onto the floor. I could feel my cheeks burning hotter than a kiln. He didn’t yell—thankfully—but that raised eyebrow could have triggered an earthquake. I started mumbling apologies faster than my brain could even form coherent sentences. Somehow, by some miracle of the cosmos, I managed to hand over the coffee-and-jelly-smeared blueprints without totally destroying the project—or myself. But, of course, the humiliation didn’t end there. I spent the next hour hiding behind my desk, imagining a warehouse built with sticky floors, walls smeared in peanut butter, and jelly fingerprints in every corner—all because of me. And there he was, probably reviewing the plans, probably noticing EVERY little smear, probably silently judging. Why does something as simple as delivering blueprints feel like defusing a bomb on a tightrope over a volcano ONLY when Mr. Grumpy is watching?