WHY IS THIS IN THE FILE?

Nobody took responsibility quickly enough.

Exit interview, 4:12 p.m., in the conference room (the director’s kitchen). The other chair is occupied by two cartons of a poetry collection whose dedication page was printed upside down.

DIRECTOR: First, Nina, thank you for everything you’ve done. We hope the internship has been a valuable professional experience.

INTERN: Would you mind specifying “everything”? I’m making the handover document.

DIRECTOR: Well, publicity. Editorial support. Production. The usual things.

INTERN: I typeset two books, proofread three, read forty-seven unsolicited manuscripts, wrote the rejection emails, fixed the order form, made the event posters, contacted bookshops, chased blurbs, packed the review copies, and paid for postage when the press card declined. I also watered the plant.

DIRECTOR: We appreciated the plant.

INTERN: It died in August.

DIRECTOR: These things happen at a small press. Did the work match your expectations?

INTERN: The listing said eight hours a week.

DIRECTOR: We wanted to be flexible.

INTERN: It was very flexible. It stretched to thirty-six.

DIRECTOR: We also hoped you’d make connections in the literary world.

INTERN: I made an excellent connection with the postal clerk on Mason Street. She taught me to reinforce the corners of our mailers so a forty-page chapbook could survive an encounter with a sorting machine. She knows more about independent publishing than anyone on our advisory board.

DIRECTOR: And the authors?

INTERN: They were lovely. One cried when she saw her book for the first time. I nearly did too. I’d spent the previous night fixing the running heads after the designer went missing.

DIRECTOR: That must have been gratifying.

INTERN: It was. Then I went to my morning shift at the bakery.

DIRECTOR: Do you feel your contribution was recognized?

INTERN: My name appeared in the acknowledgments of the fall catalog. It was spelled wrong. I corrected it in the PDF, but the printed copies had already arrived.

DIRECTOR: We operate on very narrow margins.

INTERN: I know the margins. I set them. Half an inch inside, three-quarters outside. The printer wanted another eighth. That was the argument we had on a Sunday night while I was working for free.

DIRECTOR: I don’t draw a salary either.

INTERN: I know. It’s your press. You started it because nobody else would publish the books you loved. That part I admire. But whenever the budget doesn’t work, we seem to solve it by finding somebody younger with parents who can cover the rent.

DIRECTOR: That’s unfair.

INTERN: You asked for an exit interview.

DIRECTOR: Is there anything we could have offered that would have made you stay?

INTERN: Money.

DIRECTOR: Apart from financial compensation.

INTERN: You already offered everything apart from financial compensation.

DIRECTOR: We offered contributor copies.

INTERN: You asked me to mail them to reviewers.

DIRECTOR: What are your next plans?

INTERN: The copy shop hired me. I start Monday.

DIRECTOR: With your literature degree?

INTERN: They have direct deposit.

DIRECTOR: We are grateful for your candor. Just a few practical things. Who will prepare the next catalog?

INTERN: Page twenty-two of the handover file.

DIRECTOR: And the submissions queue?

INTERN: Thirty-one.

DIRECTOR: The distributor’s invoices?

INTERN: Forty-six. There’s a spreadsheet. I color-coded the amounts that are actually overdue.

DIRECTOR: Could you come in one afternoon to train the next intern?

INTERN: Who is the next intern?

DIRECTOR: We haven’t posted the opening yet.

INTERN: Page sixty-two. I drafted the listing. I left the compensation field blank.

DIRECTOR: Why?

INTERN: I thought you should have to fill in that part yourself.

The director picked up the handover file. It was bound with the same red tape used to repair the press’s shipping boxes. At 4:20, her phone lit up with a scheduled announcement: MEET THE TEAM BEHIND OUR FALL LIST. The photograph showed a handsome stack of books. Nina had cropped out the kitchen.

“Normal” was considered and rejected.

KNOWN ASSOCIATES: readers, loiterers, people who should know better.

PUSH THE WEIRD BUTTON

A clerk has been notified. They are furious.