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Tell me I'm lazy, tell me I'm the queen of procrastination. But don't tell me it's time to say goodbye. My real problem with writing this column is finding the right way to say goodbye.
As I struggle to find something to say that will do right by my four years at this newspaper, "It's the end of the world as we know it" comes on the radio. It's R.E.M. Karma and DC101 can read my mind. Maybe it's cliché to put that in here, but the timing's too good. Staring down the barrel at graduation, it's the end of the world as I know it at 2140 G St.
I came to The Hatchet as a writer, but my colleagues turned me into a reporter. A wise man once said to me over a pitcher of beer at Lindy's, "You can teach a reporter how to be a good writer, but you can't teach anyone how to be a good reporter." You don't have to be a cutthroat journalist when you come to The Hatchet, but you better become one quick if you want to succeed here.
I didn't have an ounce of journalism experience when I became a Hatchet reporter. The greatest thing about this award-winning newspaper is that anyone can walk into the editorial office and ask for a story. Lucky for me, I had really talented editors who cared enough about me, and the quality of this paper, to take the time to show me the ropes. Maybe they didn't teach me how to be a reporter, but they sure as hell brought it out of me. Just ask all the people I pissed off reporting for news. When sources start hanging up on you, you know you're doing something right.
But in all honesty, one of the best things I earned working at The Hatchet is a thick skin. Not just because sources hang up on you, administrators yell at you and just about everybody thinks we get the story wrong. For me, at least, I earned my hard shell just by working alongside this gloriously sarcastic staff. I can't walk into the office without hearing a joke about my smoking habits, dating habits or questionable work ethic. Between cigarettes, Mosheh and quitting, I've given these guys a lot of ammunition, and my fellow Hatcheteers aren't ones to pass up on a shot. Once you get over the sting though, you realize these jokes just mean you're part of the crowd. And at GW, there is no other crowd I'd rather be part of.
