The Angry Interns moved to Southern California from the Northwest and the East to study at SDSU and State-and we’ve all got culture shock. The chance to intern at TWS provided a ray of hope-here, maybe we could escape the insanity of this tanned, superficial, concrete jungle now called home …
Nope! It turns out this joint is a bona fide SoCal freak show-there are more surfboards than snowboards around here. We want stories about Brighton and Big Bear, but the topic of conversation always steers toward O’sides “bangin'” beachbreaks. Ask a snow editor what the best board they rode last season was and they’ll answer, “A 6’0″ Al Merrick squash tail.” W.T.F.? The Angry Interns hate sun, and our only swim stroke is the doggie paddle. Differences between the snow and surf staff are subtle-the surf dudes actually walk around barefoot. Seriously, it’s disgusting. We hoped to absorb some snowboard culture-but not here, not now. By the end of the day, we’re talking like Jeff Spicolli in Fast Times At Ridgemont High.
If nonstop surf-bro banter isn’t enough to send us shotgun shopping, an even more disturbing office activity is that of jogging. No, we didn’t stutter, you heard right-Annie and that art dude Randy are all about long-distance running. What a subversive, counterculture activity. It’s a far cry from the Z-Boys scenario we imagined. Around this office, it’s blondes, Nikes, and baby-blue T-shirts. Editor Annie Fast gave us Nalgene water bottles and instructed us to “stay hydrated” at orientation-gee, thanks, Annie.
What we really can’t stand is Dresser’s and Evan’s nonstop fitness chitchat. These idiots actually fancy themselves as gym rats. Half their salaried days are spent comparing notes on workout techniques or the newest breakthroughs in supplementation-Creatine, NO-Xplode, Glutamine, Taurine … They sound like the ingredients for a pipe bomb. The Angry Interns want to know where in the hell Cody’s and Evan’s muscles are hiding? Seriously, we’re baffled-we don’t see anything. To make matters worse, these goofs strut around the office in ‘beaters. It isn’t pretty. Perhaps flapping your gums is the cornerstone of an all-new fitness regimen-the two have amazing stamina.
Sadly, the plot sickens: Our photo editor is a British bloke in a button-up, sporting a Titleist ball cap. Young Nicholas spends most of his time put-putting with the guys over in the Skate department. Yeah, snowboarders and skaters golf now-it’s revolting. Our grandparents golf. While the bros are surfing dawn patrol, sly Nick is watching the sunrise while he hacks away at the back nine … at a country club’s early-bird special somewhere in North County.
And the snow mag’s main man, well, we’ve only met him a few times. But we’ve seen enough to safely say he’s the staff member with a true penchant for photography. This guy is usually holed up in the photo studio moonlighting as principal photographer for his pet project, TransWorld Pretty Much Nude Bikini Chicks Magazine. He’s been gathering images for the new title’s release in the spring of “never going to happen.”
The only halfway-normal person in this office is that crazy black-haired chick who runs the photo department. Sure, she listens to Morrissey and Depeche Mode all day, collects gruesome toys, and obsesses over the dead-but at least we can take her at face value. We’ll take the pale Goth girl over a bunch of tan, identity confused, dieting, supplement binging, surfing snowboarders any day of the week.