
[Everyone’s got a morning after story (though most don't involve a large group of potential sorority sisters) and we wanna hear yours! Send it over to us and we’ll post it – anonymously, of course – right here!]
During the summer before my senior year, I obtained the holy grail of unpaid internships: working the green room for a popular late-night talk show. Sure, I was sans-paycheck and super poor, but hanging out with SJP right before the release of the first Sex and the City movie was completely amazing. Personally sneaking Brad Pitt down through a freight elevator to avoid the mob scene in the main lobby made me go weak at the knees. And holding Maddox while Angelina was in makeup made me feel like a celebrity mom. Those instances were memorable, yeah, but one celebrity run-in was really head and shoulders above the rest.
It was getting toward the end of my internship and I had the job down pat. I could anticipate a guest’s Starbucks craving ten minutes before anyone else, had a mental catalogue of foolproof one-liners to relax even the most nervous (or snobby) A-Lister. Things were good. Until he happened.








Wanna save the planet? It’s going to take a lot more than recycling old beer bottles (although that’s good too! keep doing that!!).






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