by Annie Scott
February 16, 2008

New power pantsuit? Check.

New feet-squeezing heels good for clacking importantly on marble? Check.

Combination of take-no-b.s. attitude and sure, I’ll-make-those-copies! smile? Um…yes, check.

Time to embark on my first day of work as a Hill intern. Yikes.

Waiting for the Metro to come to a screeching stop, and dreading the inevitable human sardine scenario, I wondered how many of my fellow Red Line riders were also on their way to The Hill. I found a spot to wedge into, grabbed the nearest post and, lacking sufficient elbow room to open the Express newspaper I’d picked up, resorted to my favorite commuting game: guessing at which stops certain people would disembark. Guesses were based on various superficial factors, including a person’s clothing, shoes, hairstyle, accessories and even conversation.

Dupont Circle was the first stop after my Woodley Park station. As it is home to a large number of the nonprofit organizations in D.C., the population exiting there included everyone who looked as though the thought of donning a suit and tie would equate to selling her/his soul. Next, the slick, fast-talking and exquisitely-attired K Street gang got off at Farragut Square for their various lobbying, consulting and law firm offices while conducting the day’s first business via cell phone and/or BlackBerry. Next, at Metro Center, I pushed my way along with the business-suited herd down the escalator to the Orange and Blue line platform, then boarded the train that would take me past bureaucrat heaven and into the heart of the House of Representatives. Next stop: Capitol South.

I clacked my way up the escalator, past the newspaper vendor, past the well-armed security guards and through the metal detectors of the main visitors’ entrance to the Rayburn House Office Building. Just as I’d done for each networking “chat” during the preceding two weeks. But this time, I was one of them.

Walking up to my new office, I summoned the confidence and enthusiasm that had helped get me this far and reported for intern duty.

The staff assistant manning the front desk gave me a once-over that suggested he was one of my many new superiors. I could tell he was straight out of school but nonetheless extremely self-important. He offered a forced smile and introduction, then called the chief clerk to announce that I had arrived. I realized then that everything around was absolute chaos — multiple phones ringing, copiers and printers going nonstop, fax machines beeping and important-looking people hurrying in every direction. The clerk scrambled out, looking frazzled.

“Hi, Annie! Welcome. Did you get your papers?”

“Uh…no. Which papers?”

“Never mind. Sorry, it’s a bit of a busy morning. One of our bills is coming up on the Floor and we have a major T.I. hearing later and we need to have everything ready for the boss before he gets here — oh that reminds me…Anyway, your desk is straight back — I know it’s a tight space, sorry!” Her cell phone started ringing loudly from her purse, which she appeared not to notice. “We didn’t have time to fix it up yet. I meant to. We’ll get around to it. Anyway, I’ll sit down with you and go over everything just as soon as we get these to the boss.” Her desk phone began ringing along with the cell phone that she just seemed to notice. “Kyle!” she shouted to the air. Then, after receiving no response within one second, “Kyle! Help Annie figure out what she’ll be doing.”

Whoa. Already in full swing. But definitely exciting! A bill on the Floor? A hearing (I’d have to learn what “T.I.” stood for)? The boss was coming by? Should have anticipated being thrown directly into the fray in the first five minutes. I set down my things at my claustrophobic’s nightmare of a desk and returned to the front.

More people scurried past without acknowledging my presence. They hadn’t seemed to notice I was there. They looked as though they’d already been at work for five hours, juggling cumbersome, overstuffed binders and engaging in deep, detailed policy discussion. “Some of our counsels,” Kyle at the front desk informed me with a discreet roll of his eyes. “You’ll get used to that.” I’ll get used to being treated like I’m invisible by half of my new coworkers? Nice.

I turned back to Kyle. “So, what should I do?”

He paused. It was clear he’d been awaiting this day since he started. “Since you’re our new intern, it’s now your job to make 75 copies of these big packets. Keep everything in the right order. And make sure to staple them, too. We need them for the hearing.” The phone rang. “Okay, I’m gonna have another staff assistant help you because I have to answer the phone.” As if on cue, another line on the phone rang. It sounded different than the other rings, though, and had a special light that flashed. “The boss,” Kyle called to another administrative woman seated at a nearby desk. The special light on her phone was flashing, too. She quickly abandoned what she was doing, picked up the receiver and cheerfully greeted our boss by name while frantically waving her arm at the chief counsel across the room, who hastily grabbed some papers from the clerk and headed into his office to take the transferred call. All within seconds. It was dizzying.

The rest of the morning continued at a frantic pace. I attempted to introduce myself to others at a moment when they didn’t look utterly frenzied. We watched the boss introduce “our” bill on each of the eight TVs broadcasting it throughout the office as we all prepared for the hearing. By lunchtime I was finally starting to get in the rhythm. I was on alert for any directions called out from anyone in the office and, as instructed, never answered the phone. No problem there!

Finally, one of the other staff assistants got a break from his duties and offered to give me a quick, basic tour of the House buildings, including critical shortcuts. We walked all over the place — up and down enormous staircases, along what seemed like miles of identical marble hallways and through the decidedly unpleasant tunnels that ran below all the House buildings. My feet protested the shoes I’d chosen and I was completely lost, but grateful someone was actually helping me out. Passing one hearing room, I noticed a camera crew and a bunch of reporters. And Glenn Close. “Oh wow…isn’t that…?”

He’d already seen her. “Yep, here for a hearing or meeting probably. That’s nothing though. My first week here I saw Angelina Jolie. Definite job perk.”

Okay, star sightings are apparently no big thing around here — must remember to play it cool next time.

On our way back to the office, we passed a large hearing room on the ground floor. I couldn’t help but notice a large group of people lined up along the wall outside the room. It looked as though they had been camped there for many hours. Many had little makeshift chairs, newspapers, even portable radios. Some of them looked like they hadn’t bathed in weeks. Something was very weird.

“So who are those people? They don’t, uh, look like they work here…”

With a knowing and disapproving half-laugh, he nodded. “Yeah, those are the line-sitters. They’re holding places for the lobbyists who want to attend our hearing, but since the lobbyists don’t have time to sit around, they pay random people to do it for them. Then they’ll come in right before they open the doors. It’s quite an operation.”

“Oh, gotcha.” Wait, WHAT?!?! This was how things actually worked? How had I never heard about this practice before? Do many people outside The Hill know this goes on? I had so much to learn.

Later in the day, when the fever pitch finally slowed to a reasonable pace, the clerk went over the first-day paperwork and pointed out where to get an ID badge. “You’ll need that for going between buildings,” she explained, “and for the subway.” Does she mean the Metro? Noting my confused look, she added, “there’s a little underground shuttle that runs between the House side, the Capitol and the Senate side. Good when you need to get over there quickly.” Cool! I had so much to learn.

By day’s end, a few of the staff assistants started to warm up to me and said I could join them at a free reception on the Senate side. Translation: free food and drinks for lowly underpaid and overworked staff. More perks. It actually seemed like they managed to have a lot of fun when things weren’t so crazy. We walked out as a little group. Then one of them turned to me.

“So, New Girl, you don’t play softball by any chance, do you?”

Ignore the slight. “Softball? Not since 3rd grade. Why?”

I had so much to learn.

Annie Scott lives and works in San Diego, where she tries to make a difference every day.