From the first day of kindergarten to the first day of class as a senior in college, some things never change.

For one, it’s the only time of year when everyone is certain that they will be getting straight A’s come the end of the term. Secondly, it’s probably the only time of year when notes are neat, students are awake and lectures are let out early. And most importantly, it’s the only day when you can be sure that every conversation will begin with the phrase, “What did you do this summer?”

Since the bulk of us here at Stanford are overachievers, I can say that I most certainly know what you did last summer. You researched fruit fly DNA with a world-renowned professor, created a new clothing line for Nike, worked 60 hours a week as a consultant to secure a lifelong position at Morgan Stanley, and sailed to Greece on your 200-foot yacht just in time for the summer Olympics, in which you won seven gold medals.

While I must admit that I did none of the above, I feel just as accomplished as the Athens heptathlon winner, having not only completed an internship which got me more than a few positive eyebrow raises, but also having figured out exactly what I want to do in my life after Stanford.

No, I didn’t fall in love with writing and reporting the news, and nor did I discover a hidden talent for editing verbose columnists while maintaining the integrity of their voices, opinions, etc. My summertime stint at a community newspaper in Brooklyn made me realize that when I grow up, I want to take my $150,000 degree, slap it up on a wall, and set up shop as a professional intern abuser.

What other profession makes years of pulling all-nighters more satisfying than the one that gives me the authority to rule over future generations of overachievers? What greater service is there to the community than breaking down the spirits of arrogant students who believe that, with a 1600 SAT score, they can draft a peace treaty for the Middle East?

And finally, what better way to repay present day ball-busters than to create an opportunity for their children to suffer the slings and arrows of an outrageous internship, like so many of my friends this summer?

That said, as a bona fide intern abuser, I would create the most irresistible internship positions that boasted of free housing, excellent networking opportunities and a glamorous working environment for which anyone would die.

Naturally, because of the prestige associated with working for Athalie, Inc., none of my interns would be paid. However, they would be expected to pay for all the coffee, lunch and dry-cleaning trips they may take throughout the day in an effort to keep me well-dressed and properly fed and caffeinated.

Excellence does not restrict itself to nine-to-five; therefore neither will my interns; who will be on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Their responsibilities will include pre-ordering my meals before even I know what I want to eat, and hand-delivering my mail, as I don’t trust the postal service.

In case of illness, family obligation or death, they will not be excused from work. And, in the event of a failure to show up for work for any of the petty reasons listed above, they would be promptly served with a Donald Trump-style “you’re fired” — hand gestures included.

Being the fair person that I am, I couldn’t possibly mistreat my interns all summer long without any rewards. They would have full access to office freebees (pens, staplers and all the yellow post-it notes they can carry in their pockets), and upon completion of their internships, they would all receive glowing recommendations that guarantee them their dream jobs as professional intern abusers in their respective fields.

After all, what is the point of all of this abuse that we endure now (9 a.m. classes, 20-page term papers, group projects and the like) if not to ensure that one day we, too, will gain the privilege to impose such torture on someone else?

Athalie Laguerre loved her newspaper internship this summer, and all examples of intern abuse come from urban legends, the experience of her friends and the genius of her imagination. E-mail her at athalie@stanford.edu to tell her about your summer internship.