It was another monstrously humid day in New York City. Despite my attempt to appear "put-together" the 45-minute 1 train from Washington Heights to Tribeca had left me looking more like a hag-tern than intern. Settling into my seat at the NOOB table I propped myself up to appear ready for anything my AE would throw at me.
An hour later, she approaches with an unusual task. "Find a door," she says.
I stare at her for a minute trying to process what she had just said. We had been working with each other for a little over a week and I hadn't quite found my groove.
"A door? Like a door you find on someones house?" I ask.
"Yes. I need it by 1 o'clock this afternoon - try to stay under $75," her voice trailing as she walked briskly back at to her desk - no doubt the client was on hold.
As an intern, you need to be prepared for situations such as this that go completely against your preconceived notions of what an intern does. True, a door is nothing like accompanying your AE to a photo shoot, but the same innovation to how you approach the task goes into play.
To start, I called the local Home Depot. After all, this is what a kid from a Los Angeles suburb does when they're looking for a door. Apparently, Home Depot doesn't sell doors in Manhattan. No - if you want a door, you must visit the Home Depot in Long Island City. Naturally, the thought of carrying a door across the Burroughs was just not happening.
I called up a few places and discovered a hardware store a few blocks away from the agency and asked a Friend-tern (Definition: A fellow intern that you don't throw under the bus and actually trust; this occurs after copious amounts of beer following a grueling day) if they would accompany me.
The hardware store - I tell you - is man heaven. It requires a certain kind of skill to get anyone to do anything for you. So I say with my most manly of voices, "I need a door - a cheap door that looks like it costs more than it does."
30 minutes later a door is lowered from the 3rd story storage area but it is missing a key element: A door handle.
I should backtrack a bit - the door was to be used for a presentation to the client. It was pivotal to the campaign - the cornerstone you could say. The door needed to look like it could work . . . like you could walk through it and enter a world unique to the brand. Hence, why the door knob was vital.
Back to the story. After browsing knobs for a while, I was perplexed at the exorbitant amount of money they would cost (it would have put me well over the $75 limit). So I ask one of the associates if they had something cheaper - something less real. Turns out, my request wasn't unheard of. This being the center of theater culture, faux-door knobs were in constant supply. A faux knob is a one-sided knob that gives the impression that it actually opens - in essence, it is a prop.
Realizing that I would have to install the knob myself and knowing that I have never been fond of powertools (hence why I always have a BFF lesbian in my life) I bargained with the guy who brought the door out and offered him $10 if he would install the handle. He did it for $15, but that left me with $10 to spare.
As friend-tern and I walked down West Broadway with knobed-door in hand we waved at celebrities trying hard to feign interest in her platter of greens at the SoHo Grand.
Opening up the delivery elevator on the 19th floor with door in toe, I asked my AE where she would like the door.
"Anywhere," she said, slipping me a sly grin - I knew I had fell into her good graces.
