Dear Intern,

The jig is up. Our cubicle walls are short. You’re tall. My screen is huge.

Because I’m a writer, I often chalk up personal internet usage to “research.” But you know.

You’ve seen me order mascara on Avon. You’ve seen me peruse every daily deal site under the sun. You’ve seen me scour Endless for handbags under $30 and never find a single one. You’ve seen me keep a tiny window open in the corner of my desktop so that I can watch Intervention or listen to the Nerdist podcast.

Yet you remain silent on the matter. You ask me if I’m busy when you have a request. You applaud my performance on client pitches. And yet… and yet.

I imagine that if we worked in a real company, and not a start-up, you’d have said something.

I imagine if you weren’t the only person in the company younger and less interested in this job than I am that you’d have said something.

I imagine if you weren’t the intern that you’d have said something.

I imagine that if I hadn’t caught you sniffing my scarf that one day that you’d have said something.

But I can only imagine what’s going on on your screen, which is conveniently backed into the corner.

When you leave after your internship is up, I’m moving to your desk. I’d like to be able to watch Intervention with at least half of my screen.

Hanna Brooks Olsen