Just the thought of sitting in the writers room was already intimidating, but the thought of being new and awkwardly sitting their in the writers room was a completely different fucking story.
About a month ago, I received the amazing opportunity of working as a writer for Saturday Night Live. A show I grew up watching with my dad, most of the jokes flying past me as I was to young to understand.
Going through college, I had always imagined myself working in some field of the comedy world. Whether that was writing, stand up, or possibly even acting, it had always been the end goal.
Now I sit here at my small desk in my office whom I shared with two other new recruits, my leg bouncing anxiously knowing in a matter of minutes it would be my first time pitching some of my jokes for the show.
The entire day I had been stressed, constantly keeping up on my caffeine intake as a headache had began to form from anxiety.
A knock at the door caused me to come out of my anxiety induced state, my head turning in the direction of the sound of the door opening.
"They just called everybody in."
My colleague who I had really stalled getting to know, peers her head into the room flashing an excited; wide smile.
How could anyone possibly be excited for this?
"Okay." I say a forced and tight lipped smile forming on my face as I take a deep breath.
Her blonde hair whips behind her as she walks off leaving the door open, but the only thing I wanted to do was lock it and hide in this office until the day was done.
Standing from my chair, I grab both my computer and papers with scribbled down thoughts and jokes. Some coming to me in the middle of the night, causing the handwriting to be almost unreadable.
I nervously walk out of the office and down the hall until reaching the door that led into the large conference room.
It seemed like everyone was already there from the noise that could be heard from outside the door.
My hand rested on the handle forcing myself to open the door and walk in. Luckily for me, everyone seemed to engulfed in their own conversations to notice my entering.
My stare remained down at my feet, avoiding any contact with cast members and fellow writers. Glancing up, I notice the blonde woman, I think her name was Mariah, or maybe it was Marcy? She was sitting up straight, laughing with other coworkers, thankfully their was an empty chair next to her.
I take a seat refusing to speak as I attempt to read over my sloppy notes making sure everything I wanted to bring up was written down.
To entranced in my thoughts and notes, I don't take notice in the sound of a pen tapping against the table and soon flying in my direction landing on the floor next to my shoe.
My eyes widen and I look down to see a blue pen and soon a hand with faded tattoos reaching down to grab it.
"Shit my bad." The person says with an awkward chuckle.
"Oh... yeah it's okay." I say quietly as my eyes meet his brown ones, and almost immediately my brain goes into flight mode.
I should have known who it was by the sound of his voice. By the sight of his god damn hand.
Pete Davidson.
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Sorry it's so short but if I would've wrote it all it would have been AGES LONG. Part two coming soon!! :)
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pete davidson imagines
Fanfiction*yes im aware the title is a little off but im to lazy to fix it - Pete imagines - REQUESTS OPEN - update when I feel like it :))
