I plan to tell stories for the rest of my life, just like I’ve done at The Daily Tar Heel for the last four years.
Which is why it’s both comical and terrifying to remember that, technically, I was never supposed to be here. When I applied to work at the DTH, I was rejected.
That trudge back to Hinton James after I learned I didn’t have a spot in the newsroom will forever be imprinted on my sad little first-year brain. My name was not plastered on one of the colorful posters the DTH always uses to announce its new staffers. I checked, then checked again. Nothing. I was devastated.
I knew nothing about journalism and little about the DTH, but a friend had encouraged me to apply, and based on how she talked about the people behind the paper, I knew I wanted to be a part of it. She was the first person I told that I didn’t get hired.
A few hours later, I got an apology email from my new boss saying my application had gotten lost. My name should have been on one of those posters, she said. I still have no idea if this is true or not. I wholeheartedly believe whatever abysmal writing sample I submitted just didn’t make the cut. Regardless, I took my acceptance. I started the next week.