Pharaoh's First Shift Fail

My first day at Pharaoh's Putt-Putt was supposed to be chill — just stamping hands and watching middle schoolers miss hole-in-one attempts. Instead, I became the reason the entire park got shut down for three hours.

It started with the hat. Pharaoh Fred, the 40-year-old manager who definitely peaked in high school, handed me this ridiculous gold-and-blue headpiece with a fake cobra coiled on top. "It builds character," he said, clearly just someone else's problem now.

"Bet," I mumbled, already regretting everything.

Two hours later, I'm蹲behind the Pyramid of Gazebo, our signature fourth hole, watching the fake **water** feature mysteriously overflow. The Egyptian gods were apparently not vibing with me today. A family of six — dad in socks with sandals, the works — stood there staring at the growing puddle like I'd personally offended their ancestors.

Then came the cable.

The animatronic camel that was supposed to "spit" water at golfers every ten minutes started seizing. Its head jerked violently back and forth like it was possessed, and I noticed the thick black **cable** running from it to the control box had somehow wrapped around my ankle.

"Bro, what?" I whispered, panic rising.

I tried to step back, but the cable pulled tight. The camel's eyes lit up red. It made this horrible mechanical screeching sound that sounded suspiciously like my math teacher's voice saying "show your work."

The **pyramid** decoration, previously just a tacky fiberglass structure with painted hieroglyphics, suddenly flickered with hidden LED lights I didn't even know it had. The whole thing started playing what I can only describe as trap music mixed with ancient Egyptian chanting.

Every single person in the park stopped golfing. They all turned to look at me — the new guy in the ridiculous pharaoh hat, tangled in cables, while an animatronic camel had a seizure and the pyramid blasted mumble-rap hieroglyphics.

"My guy," some kid in a Supreme shirt said, filming with his phone. "This is actual content."

Pharaoh Fred appeared from nowhere, face like he'd just seen a ghost. "What in the— CAMILLA, WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"I literally just stood here," I protested, which was technically true.

Long story short: The camel had to be euthanized (unplugged), the pyramid's DJ features were "not factory installed" according to the technician, and I earned the nickname "Camel Girl" before I even clocked out.

But here's the thing — by my third week, I was running that place like a boss. The hat grew on me (sort of). I even got to suggest we add an actual DJ night at the pyramid.

Sometimes the most embarrassing moments become your origin story. And honestly? Way better than boring.