He rode into the office in a G2000 suit,
Clutching his CV and all but quivering in his boots,
Twelve interviews but no placement—the story stays the same,
For that poor, hardworking fool—the Intern with No Name.
We left him sitting in reception while we got drunk off our face,
Then hired him when he agreed to upload our database,
What we didn’t mention was that he’d go buy us coffees in the rain,
But that’s all in a day’s work for the Intern with No Name.
Diligent he was though—he never showed up late,
He even came to work during a typhoon signal eight,
To staple, file and photocopy—no sir, admin is no game,
He took it all so seriously, that Intern with No Name.
And did we appreciate the poor kid? Did we hell,
Did he get one ounce of praise for the jobs he did so well?
Or when those files went missing, did we point the finger of blame,
At that unfortunate soul, the Intern with No Name?
He was the last person to hold them—the whispers went around,
And not a trace of the documents could anywhere be found,
He came as suddenly as he left, wrapped in a shroud of shame,
Don’t even ask for a referral, you damned Intern with No Name!
We blamed him for years—and suddenly one day, the files turned up!
They were found under a giant stack of dirty coffee cups,
We all felt utterly terrible for squarely laying the blame,
On that dorky office scapegoat, the poor Intern with No Name.
