I Hope He Is A Gentleman

My dad knew a guy who had recently worked for the Pittsburgh Pirates. He knew a woman who did athletic training for the Pittsburgh Penguins. She forwarded my resume and cover letter to Toby Brown, who worked in marketing for the Penguins. I'm sure there were college students about a million times more qualified than I was, but as I walked slowly down the hallway of the Consol Energy Center, I realized that it didn't matter much. I had the position, though I wasn't entirely sure why.

I had some marketing experience, I suppose. I was the Publicity Vice President for my university class. I made posters that encouraged students to come to dances and brunches we hosted. We never got good turn outs, so I assumed that marketing wasn't my forte.

I wasn't studying marketing in school, I wasn't even studying communications. I was studying architecture. That, and Russian. Architecture, that made sense to me -- I've always been artistic, and when I entered university, I rationalized that I could still study art through architecture, without all the fear that came along with the idea of being a starving artist on the streets of Pittsburgh. And I liked architecture, and I was good at it. It was both creative and logical.

And then there was Russian. My university had a language requirement: one year of a foreign language. Not too bad, right? I studied French in high school, and I wasn't half bad. But when I entered university, I wanted something different. The Slavic department was small, almost cultish. There weren't that many professors, but they were all engaging and interesting. As much as I loved architecture, Russian was exciting and, above all, different.

And that made me a valuable asset as an unpaid intern to the Pittsburgh Penguins.

I'm a college junior, twenty-one years old, and I can speak Russian conversationally. I'm slow, and my accent isn't very good, but I can hold my own in a conversation -- assuming the person I'm talking to can deal with a couple of grammar errors here and there.

Okay, a lot of grammar errors.

It was the first day of my internship, and as I walked through the hallway towards the receptionist's desk, all I could do was stare at the ground. My black dress pants were too long (I didn't have time to bring them in to be shortened) and the black blazer that covered a dark grey blouse was my mother's. I felt out of place and uncomfortable. I pushed my large, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose and glanced at a woman walking by me wearing a pair of smaller, sleeker frames. I thought my glasses gave me a hip edge in the architecture department, but in the real world, they just made me feel idiotic.

"Hi," I said as I approached the woman at the front desk. "I was told to sign in here? It's my, uh, first day."

"You're the new marketing intern?" She asked gently, and I nodded. "I figured -- all the other department interns have already arrive." She didn't say it unkindly, more so that she was stating a fact. Still, I bit my lip in embarrassment and adjusted the black purse my mom lent me on my shoulder. "Head straight down the hall, the interns are meeting in room 154." I nodded and thanked her for the instructions.

With more speed (though no more confidence) I walked briskly down to room 154. Thankfully, the meeting hadn't started yet -- students who looked around my age were milling around the room, chatting with one another, and checking out the small selection of snacks set out by the window. I sat down in the only unclaimed chair, next to a girl wearing a black pencil skirt and white button down. "Hey," she said, and I returned the greeting. "I'm Anna."

"Remy," I introduced.

"Where're you working?" She questioned.

"Marketing, you?"

She grinned. "That's really neat. I'm in Human Relations." I opened my mouth to ask what university she was studying at, but before I could, a group of adults walked in. Everyone quickly took their seats as the meeting began. I recognized Toby, the head of Marketing, from our interview, and he shot me a friendly (and slightly reassuring) smile as he took his seat up front. Alright, so at least I knew for sure now my hiring wasn't a complete accident.

The meeting began pretty simply -- we all went around in a circle and introduced ourselves. Altogether, there were ten interns spanning different departments, and some departments had more than one intern. A boy named Henry, a sophomore from a private college, was also working in Marketing with me. I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed how he was taking notes throughout the meeting. He was already putting me to shame, but at least he would know what he was doing.

"Alright, are we ready to take a tour of the center?" A female representative from Sales asked. One by one we filed out of the meeting room and as a small army walked down the hall. The adults in charge pointed out different areas -- IT was down the hall to the right, and Player Personnel was on the left. I overheard two girls, Lisa and Miranda, whisper how that must be where the players are, only to be proven wrong when Toby had us all make a sharp right.

"The rink and the locker rooms are down here -- unless a member of your department takes you here, please stay out of the players' way in this area. For today, though, we'll show you around."

There was a decently sized kitchen area, as well as multiple seating arrangements, but no players. Still, the area felt lived in, and the woman from Sales opened a double set of doors with the Penguins logo on it. The interns were all completely silent as we entered the bustling Pittsburgh Penguins locker room. Guys were sitting in stalls taping sticks and tying skates; some had shirts on, some didn't; some were silent, listening to music before practice, and others were chatting away. Either way, it was by far the loudest room in the Consol Energy Center. "Hey everyone," Toby began, catching the attention of the entire time. I took a small step back, wedged somewhere in between Anna and Henry. "We wanted to introduce you all to the newest interns for this Spring. Do you all want to go around again and introduce yourselves?"

And just like before, we each took a turn introducing ourselves, our department, and what we were studying. The players would all start to talk after each intern had spoken, commenting on their department or what they were studying or anything else worthwhile. Miranda, for example, explained that she was was interning with the Athletic Trainers, but was hoping to eventually move into studying concussion symptoms and treatments in children. Craig Adams, one of the older guys on the team who I knew had children, commented on what a good idea that was. Miranda looked at the ground in a clear combination of embarrassment and pride.

A couple more interns took there turn, before I had the floor. "Hi," I began, "I'm Remy. I'm interning in the Marketing department with Henry." I glanced over at Henry, who had spoken before me, and he gave me a thumbs up in appreciation. "At school, I'm studying architecture and Russian." And that's when people became confused.

"Not marketing?" Asked Sidney Crosby. A couple other players voiced their own similar questions.

"Not many students apply to internships with experience in Russian language," Toby interjected. "We think Remy will add a lot to the department, especially with interviews." All the players looked at one person in particular -- Evgeni Malkin.

"You speak Russian then?" He asked with a flawless Russian accent -- what else should I have expected? I swallowed hard, and nodded.

"I am learning. Russian language is hard, but I enjoy it."

He didn't respond for a moment, and then said in English, "You speak like American." Everyone in the room cracked up, except for me.

This was going to be a long, long experience.