Doggy Paddle & Deadlines

The summer between sophomore and junior year, I landed my first real job: installing cable systems for people who still thought 200 channels was a flex. My boss, this massive ex-linebacker we called "The Bull" behind his back, had a voice like gravel in a blender and zero patience for teenagers who couldn't tell a coaxial from a composite.

"Move it, Maya! We got three more installs before lunch!" The Bull would bellow, his red face matching the company logo on his shirt.

I'd sweat through my uniform, scrambling through attics and crawl spaces while my rescue dog, Buster, waited in the van. Buster was this scrawny terrier mix I'd found behind a dumpster—zero pedigree, maximum attitude. He became my emotional support animal before I even knew what that meant.

The worst day happened at the Miller house. Their cable box was in this ridiculous spot—literally inside their swimming pool equipment shed. In July. In Texas.

The Bull was already on my case about timing. "You got twenty minutes, Maya. Don't make me come back there."

I'm not gonna lie—I hate water. Never learned how to swim properly. Too much fluid motion, too little control. But there I was, wading through this gross pool equipment area, cable wires tangled everywhere like spaghetti from hell, trying to reach the connection point without falling in.

Buster, sensing my stress, somehow wriggled out of the van and came bounding over. Next thing I knew, this dog who hates water launched himself into the pool after a butterfly, creating this massive splash that drenched me and the open cable box.

The Bull came storming over. "WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?"

Water everywhere. Cable probably fried. And there's Buster, doggy-paddling like he's been training for the Olympics, looking completely pleased with himself.

The Bull stared. Then his shoulders dropped. Then he started laughing. Not his usual angry bark, but actual laughter.

"You know what?" he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "That dog's got more balls than half my crew. Take five. The box is shot anyway."

That afternoon, The Bull taught me how to actually swim in the Millers' pool while Buster barked encouragement from the deck. I learned two things: cable installation sucks, and sometimes you need a ridiculous dog to remind you not to take everything so seriously.

Best worst summer ever.