Intern Chronicles, Entry #51

I hadn’t eaten all day.

Back-to-back meetings, a sprint planning session that became a venting circle, and then two hours rewriting a case study he described as “emotionally optimized.”

I guess I looked how I felt.
Because he paused, tilted his head like a concerned golden retriever, and said:

“Wait. Did you… forget to fuel?”

Before I could answer, he dug around in his filing cabinet—past the NDA folders and the emergency whiteboard markers—and pulled out a dusty cardboard box labeled “WOMEN’S NOURISHMENT” in Sharpie.

Inside: Luna Bars. So many Luna Bars.
Peanut butter, lemon zest, “Toasted Nut Ambition.”
All expired by 1–3 years.

He held one out like it was a peace offering or a tampon or both.

“I keep them for... you know. Intern stuff. Iron? Hormones? Anyway. You're valuable.”

I took it.
Because I was starving.
And because I could tell, this was his version of care.

He didn’t ask anything else.
Just went back to his laptop and softly played the instrumental version of the “Succession” theme while muttering about user personas.

Later, he told someone I was “powered by legacy snacks and sheer conviction.”
I didn’t correct him.

It was the nicest thing anyone had said all week.