FOR WASHINGTON, this was a big summer. The city of lobbyists, journalists and even a few Congressmen (those who weren't fact-finding on the Champs-Elysee) was abrew with stories of Ollie, Fawn, and shady arms dealers.

It was also, as always, a summer for the return of rituals that accompany the descent of the intern hordes.

There is a peculiar kind of code collegians invariably follow when in the Capitol. It's immediately obvious when you are introduced to a fellow intern. In the interest of brevity, you don't ask names. You don't ask colleges. You don't even ask what they're doing this summer. You ask simply: "Rayburn, Hart, or Cannon?"

For non-initiates into the D.C. summer scene, those are three of the six Congressional office buildings to which thousands of Undergraduate Council-types flock to network, mingle, and staple.

Interns come to D.C. (they seldom come to "Washington") because of their longstanding interest in the machinery of government. They come because their parents are darlings of the local Congressman's PAC. And they come on pilgrimage to Georgetown, where interns now mourn the passing of the 18-year-old drinking age. (Thank God, though, for Santa's beneficent grandfather.)

CONTRARY to expectations, intern life does not always look the same from D.C. as it may have from Toledo, San Francisco or even the Institute of Politics. When, for example, congressional offices are swamped with 15 or so would-be legislative assistants, desks become a hot commodity.

Desk Dearth can cause dizziness, disorientation, and even anomie. A few young office nomads persevere and are granted use of the receptionist's desk, perhaps during the congressionally mandated National Executive Assistant Awareness Week.

So when your intern buddy dulcetly answers the phone--"Senator Byrd's office, how may I direct your call?"--it is a sure sign he's moving up in the congressional world.

But who's to say such tasks as stapling can't be fun and rewarding? Certainly no one on Capitol Hill. Interns, after all, don't staple just anything. These aren't just any papers, these are memoranda.

Deep down, though, even interns know stapling doesn't provide a wealth of cognitive exercise. When it comes time to tell resume-readers about summer experience, terminology becomes important.

"Assisted U.S. Senator Proxmire in developing alternative strategies on water-rights legislation," for instance may also be read, "Refilled the Senator's office cooler, May-August '87." Remember, it's not chopped ham--it's chopped steak.

A FEW interns believe diligence is also rewarded. For those who excel, there may be a chance to empty the office coffee grinds. Kudos to them for reading the Far Eastern Economic Review over breakfast, just in case.

There's no question that despite the occasional hardship, Washington has real allure. It's not uncommon to hear interns talking about "witnessing democracy in action."

Their sincerity would make Tocqueville shiver. Many interns rightly recognize that in order to take advantage of the Washington experience, in-depth knowledge of the American political process is sometimes helpful. One fellow I met last summer had dutifully read a full year of U.S. News & World Report as preparation for his job just off the Hill.

Ample opportunities, of a sort, do await ruddy-faced networkers. There are intern parties. There are bars. But best of all, there are free Congressional receptions where trade associations lavish huge sums of money to line up prospective allies.

This summer, the fetes became a vital to some interns after collegiates were barred from the Senate's subterranean cafeterias to cut down waits on the checkout line. But there's more to it than that: where else can you see the likes of Howell Heflin chowing down courtesy of the National Pork Rind Processors?

Perhaps the real core of intern networking comes during the annual softball games. While senatorial staffs are busy battling each other out on the diamond, experienced interns are busy lining up runningmates on the bench.

Some of the interns are also good ballplayers. These select few command high stipends from willing Intern Coordinators who know prestige in D.C. is a function of softball records. With this in mind, they comb through thousands of resumes, basing their choices on recommendations from local coaches.

But so what if seersucker suits are quick to wrinkle in the humid D.C. weather, bowties become droopy after hours of uninterrupted hearing-watching, and Xerox machines are hungry beasts. The beach is only about three hours away.