Have you ever been sitting there, minding your own business, when a thought hits you like a hurricane? And you’re like, “Holy crap. I am so deep. Why isn’t everyone this insightful? I should share my glorious mind magic with the world! Or, at the very least people that know me. Outsiders don’t deserve my knowledge anyhow. They wouldn’t appreciate it.” And then you mentally ramble so much you forget your divine-inspired-clouds partingly awesome thought? Yeah, me too.
Luckily for you though, this time I made a post-it.
Okay, so, I’m sitting there putting together brackets. Which if you didn’t know, is about the most mind-numbing monotonous thing you can do at my job.
1. Grab bracket
2. Gauge bracket orientation
3. Orient bracket properly
4. Grab t-bolt
5. Gauge t-bolt orientation
6. Orient t-bolt properly
7. Insert t-bolt into bracket
8. Grab washer
9. Place washer over t-bolt
10. Grab nut
11. Place nut on t-bolt
12. Tighten
In the beginning I’m fake excited about it. You can tell I coach kid’s soccer because in the back of my head I’m placating myself like I do the kids that suck at running, “No, no honey. Defense is WAY more important than scoring!” (<- Actually, also sucking at running, I believe this.) Anyone can build a conveyor! But put together brackets? This stuff is boring. No one would want to do that. Basically, when I begin I’m convincing myself that what I’m doing is so crucial to the conveyor assembly process that I deserve a sticker for sucking it up so others don't have to. By bracket 100 I’m a gold medal winning bracket assembler. Screw gymnastics. This is where it is at! If bracket assembly was an Olympic sport I'd be all over it. By 200 I’m like a super hero saving people from the tedium induced insanity. Stand back, ma’am I’ve got this. Then I'd dramatically throw myself on the box of bolts and use them to assemble still more brackets. Which I would use to defeat some horrible villian, probably made of all thread. By 300? Yup, I’m a martyr. I have saved hundreds of unsuspecting children (or three other employees) from having to face the intense suffering and hand cramping induced by bracket assembly. I deserve a frickin’ parade, but I won’t be able to wave. Because my hands are twisted into what I assume will one day by a bitchin’ case of arthritis. I’d settle for a holiday. Certainly I deserve a holiday for such sacrifices? Anybody? Anyone? There is no clapping. No speeches of gratitude for taking the sucky job. As I drag the last bracket from the box with clawed, calloused fingers, my hopes for achievement are dashed. I’d settle for a thank you, or a beer. Actually, I’d kinda prefer the beer. If I could put a straw in it and drink it without holding it.
In case you can’t tell, 350 of these later my mind has started wandering a bit.
One of the issues with bracket assembly is the, as I like to call it in the beginning, stupid-hippie-son-of-a-B…olt not threading properly. At first I always try to keep shoving the thing, hoping somehow that it will magically screw on despite its being crooked. Eventually though, about the time I begin sighing dejectedly whenever it happens and am too worn down to fight anymore, I do the smart thing and simply unscrew the bolt and screw it back into the nut with the proper orientation. It seems simple right? Well, yeah, but my head is a very strange place (as I’m sure you can tell) and when it is early in the game that damned thing is being difficult just to mess with me. My sacrifice is valiant! I fought against the odds! That bolt is an evil mastermind. You don’t even know…
Well, today as I threaded bolt 347 it hit me. The sky parted. Angels sang. God reached down and touched my numbed brain with brilliance. There were tears. I was overflowing with insight, or allergies, but most likely I was just so full of insight that it was leaking out. Ready for this? Are you sure? It’s pretty profound. You should stop now if you can’t handle it. Okay, here goes:
Bolts and people are a lot alike. So why on earth do I put so much time and energy into trying to push a misthreaded person or bolt a certain direction when I know that it isn’t going to work? I could just back off a little twist it a different way, and try it again with much easier success. Why do I get so bent out of shape and think the absolute worst of that poor, misguided bolt when things aren’t going quite right; rather than just sighing and realizing that with people, as with bolts, the angle is everything?
Okay, so I’m not sure if it is because I like to pretend to be the superhero, or what yet, but I thought the back off and twist it a different angle analogy was freaking brilliant. I hope it changes your life. If it does I would like to humbly suggest a parade, or booze with silly straws.
Preferably soon, before the arthritis sets in.
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