In 1997, I was an intern for "Late Night With Conan O'Brien." It's the only internship I've ever held, and with good reason: I'm terrible at everything.

That's not self-depreciation, by the way, I've done the research. My organizational skills: Terrible. My ability to complete tasks in a timely manner: Terrible. Problem solving: Terrible. Inter-personal communication: Terrible. The list goes on and on.

Really, think of anything you'd want in an intern, in a high-stress office situation, like, say, a 60-minute network talk show produced live every night, and then consider your worst case scenario. Ladies and gentlemen, I am that scenario. That's why I'm wonderful

To make matters worse, I was 26 years old at the time. When's the last time you met a 26 year old intern? Who wasn't special needs? That's right. I was essentially "Benny" from "LA Law." I was in grad school, and 99% of the other interns were freshmen or sophomores. So not only was I a crushing disappointment to the people who "employed" me, I was a compete and utter joke to the other interns.

I was the kid who had to repeat second grade.

In his late 20's.

The tone was set from my first day. I was sent out on a run to get one of the producers some lunch, and I took a 45 minute accidental train ride to Brooklyn. I was sent out again to get something else, and I realized I didn't have the address. The paper I was given just had a list of items. I had to call my boss to ask for the address, and he asked me, probably, the most demeaning question I had ever been asked:

"Did you look at the other side of the paper?"

The address was on the other side of the paper. I had forgotten, somehow, that paper is two-sided.

When I came back from that run, late, my boss had a new name for me. "The Warrior." Like naming a fat guy "Tiny," or Benny from "LA Law," "Genius," "Warrior" was meant to signify that I was, for all intents and purposes, the worst guy for the job.

And then the fake runs began. I was sent to the NBC commissary for 40 straws. For Cindi Lauper. "I don't know what it is, Warrior, Cyndi Lauper needs 40 straws. And they're not going to want to give them to you. But she needs them."

The worst part about being a 26 year old intern is that you're old enough to KNOW when you're being had, but in no position to say, "Oh, come ON, dude. Let's just go get a beer. Let's not do this."

He was telling the truth about one thing, however. The woman at the NBC commissary did not want to give up 40 straws.

It wasn't all terrible. Hang on, let me check. Yeah, it was pretty terrible. Even the minor victories were hollow. For example, I got to appear on national TV in a bear suit.

I was playing a sad bear, sad that some hockey guy was leaving Canada for an American team. I just had to sit in the audience and dab my eyes with a hanky. Somehow, I managed to do that wrong, and Conan actually said, "Nice, the Bear has entirely hidden his face from the camera."

As I was taking the bus from NYC back to New Brunswick, NJ, I thought to myself, "What if that's it? What if that's the highest I will ascend in the entertainment industry?" I got good and drunk that night. Good and drunk.

Man, how I envied the writers, some of whom weren't much older than me. They had a blast, kicking nerf balls around the halls, getting their food delivered to them, getting paid to write jokes. What a life.

Many years later, I was on the Lower East Side, and I ran into one of those writers. I asked him how things were at the show. He said, "It's like working at an Eastern Bloc insurance agency.'

At the end of my internship, I received a signed 8X10 glossy of Conan, signed by the man himself; "Josh- Don't get into television. It's a dead end business."

Shooting down the walls of heartache. Bang. Bang.