So as far as internships go, my summer at Lawton, Trevor and Collins sucked about as bad you can imagine. Lookit’, I know I’m only a junior at Virginia Tech, but when you intern at an architectural firm you’re hoping for a few creative assignments and at least some training on the CAD technology or something. Instead, I’m a glorified receptionist and the only machines I got my hands on were the telephone and the Xerox copier.
Anyways, the next to the last day there and old man Lawton comes waddling by to pay me the first visit of the summer. He asks how things went and I lie through my teeth to avoid the conflict and hopefully get rid of him quicker. Besides, I could tell by the way he asked that he really didn’t give a damn about the answer. He’s got to have an ulterior motive in starting up the conversation.
He pulls out my resume from the application I sent in for the internship and points to the list of hobbies. “Says here you do caricature portraits?”
“Yes sir. It’s just for kicks, but I enjoy it. Keeps me out of trouble when I don’t have anything to do.” I was hoping he could read between the lines on that, but he didn’t.
“You do them for commission?”
“Sometimes,” I shrug nonchalantly. That’s a lie, but what the hell – he’s made of money.
“Wendy and I – err – Wendy is my wife…” And I’m thinking to myself like the pig bastard needs to tell me that. Hell, everyone in the office knows about his trophy wife — thirty years younger than he is and rumored to be fucking half the professional staff. Even a punk intern like me has heard the stories. “It’s our third anniversary coming up and I was thinking –”
I cut him off right there and decide what the hell, I’m never setting foot in this joint again and for all I care he can fire my ass on the spot if he wants. So I just up and tell him the truth. “I’ve already drawn her.”
He’s flabbergasted; but to prove it, I pull it out from the small folder of drawings I keep in my backpack. It’s a pastel charcoal sketch I made on some brown wrapping paper that I saved from a UPS package that was delivered my first week on the job. He scowls down over the top of his glasses, shifts his weight from foot to foot, and finally scrutinizes it with a pleased if not somewhat mortified look on his pudgy face.
“That’s one hell of an imagination you’ve got there, son.”
I could have told him that my imagination sucks and I always sketch from a live model but at that moment the phone rang – so I just let him think what he wanted. Penciled “$50” on a notepad, spun it so he could see, and that was that.
(Source: olderoticart, via naughtyvoyer-deactivated2014021)