This may surprise many of you, but I was not always the staggeringly amusing and intelligent columnist that I am today.

No, really, try to control your shock. Among other things, I am also a copy reader for this esteemed publication.

Now, being a copy reader for the Guardian is not something that most people will admit to offhand. We get paid laughingly little and get virtually no credit for the work we do. They don’t call us copy hoes for nothing, people.

And it’s not an easy job either; the requirements are somewhat intimidating. I have to be familiar with Associated Press style as well as grammar — for example, I am expected to know that Frisbee should be capitalized because it is the trademarked version of “”flying disc.””

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “”Duh! Everyone knows that Frisbee is a trade name that should always be capitalized! What kind of dumb fuck wouldn’t?”” And you are right — every dumb fuck should know that. Haha.

But I also have to know that nonessential phrases must be set off by commas, which requires that I be familiar with what a nonessential phrase is. (In case you were wondering, it’s a phrase that is not essential to the rest of the sentence.) Not laughing anymore, are you?

Well, maybe you are. I would be. But as pathetic as this job may seem, it was surprisingly hard to get.

It was about this time last year that I applied at the Guardian for my more-pathetic-than-words-or-nonessential-phrases-can-describe job. I went in, filled out an application and went on my merry way, assured of the fact that I was way too much of a journalism geek to be turned down.

I was wrong.

I should note here that, as a freshman trying to get used to a new school and sense of independence, I did not really want a job. By this I mean that I was basically just really lazy. My mother made me apply. So I was hardly heartbroken when I was summarily told that the Guardian no longer needed any more copy readers.

Then, at the very end of winter quarter, I ran into one of the copy readers who was not rejected. She mentioned that this paper was looking to hire readers again, and, because I just love rejection, I decided to reapply.

The second time I applied, I was actually rewarded with an interview. Jennifer Sposito and Jeffrey White, who are now the opinion editor and editor in chief, respectively, were the copy editors then. And quite intimidating people they were!

But they were also cruel, heartless people because they scheduled my interview for three days after I had my wisdom teeth pulled out. I realize they had no way of knowing this, but dammit, it’s hard to interview without all your teeth.

So I showed up to my meeting with a swollen face, missing teeth and a head full of Vicodin. I was a happy camper, let me tell you.

The interview started out with tough, hard-hitting questions like, “”What college are you in?”” and “”What is your major?”” I, of course, took several moments to contemplate the fuzzy colors dancing before my Vicodin-clouded eyes before answering each question. I am great with first impressions.

Then we got to the really hard stuff — copy reader stuff. Questions like, “”What is the difference between ‘than’ and ‘then’?”” My response: “”Well one is time and the other is, like, a comparison, or, er … just trust me, I know the difference.”” And I still say that when under heavy medication, none of you would have been able to do any better. You probably can’t anyway.

That portion of the interview over, I was then told that I would need to take the “”copy test.”” You could almost taste the ominous undertone in that phrase — and with Vicodin, you really can.

The only problem with this plan was that there were no available computers. I may have been high at the time, but I knew even then that this was not what I would call a “”highly efficient, well-oiled machine”” of a newspaper if they couldn’t even give me a computer for an hour.

As scary as it sounded at the time, the copy test turned out to just be an article with a lot of inserted mistakes that I was supposed to catch in the span of one hour. No biggy. After all, I am a journalism nerd. This was cake.

About 20 minutes later I went to find whatever copy editor caught my eye. I told Jeff I was done, full of pride in myself for doing well and not falling asleep on the keyboard (again).

Jeff’s response: “”You’re done? Are you sure?””

Looking back on it now, that sounded a lot like Regis Philbin’s patented, “”Is that your final answer?”” So of course I was not at all sure that I was really done with the copy test — what the hell was I thinking?

I staggered back to the computer and sat in front of it for 15 more minutes, trying to look very busy, very important and very not high on Vicodin. After that, I really did feel sure that I was done — or at least that I was tired — so I left.

I have never seen that copy test since, but I am fairly sure I did well because I was hired.

Jenny has since claimed that she “”lost”” my first application, and that could be true, but I still like to make her feel guilty about it on principle. But with one quarter left in my freshman year, I was officially a member of the Guardian staff.

Needless to say, my cup runneth over.

Now it’s a new year and I’m still here, reading stories and making sure that two-thought compounds (compounds that are smarter than one-thought compounds) have hyphens. And it only took two applications, one copy test and a whole lot of Vicodin.

So basically, if you ever apply to work at the Guardian, make sure you’re on drugs — apparently it helps.