Some Assembly. Extensive Profanity.

1 day ago

3 min read

OFF THE RECORD

My stairstepper broke three or four weeks ago, so I ordered a new one and apparently assumed it would arrive prepared to do its job.

Somehow, I completely forgot about the part where somebody has to build the damn thing.

That somebody turned out to be me, although I spent several weeks refusing to accept the position.

First, the box sat at my office for several days. Probably a week. It was heavy, and every time I looked at it, I decided I had already done enough for the day. Bringing home a box of physical activity felt like something that could wait.

Eventually, I brought it home and opened it to discover approximately nine thousand tiny parts. Screws. Pieces that presumably had a purpose, although I couldn’t immediately tell you what it was. Instructions that suggested the manufacturer had considerably more confidence in me than I did.

I had ordered a workout and received a construction assignment.

So I left it on the back couch in my living room, where it spent the next several weeks lost, alone, and slowly becoming part of the décor. Every so often, I’d look at it and think, I really need to put that together. Then I would go do literally anything else.

There is something particularly insulting about exercise equipment exhausting you before you’ve even assembled it.

Today, however, I decided we were doing this. The stairstepper was coming off the couch. It had enjoyed enough rest.

I went into this fully expecting to call my dad. I would make a reasonable attempt, establish that the instructions were clearly the problem, and contact the appropriate department. My dad remained available for emergency deployment, but I figured I should at least see how far I could get.

So I studied the pieces. I wrestled with the screws. I cussed. I reconsidered what I thought I understood. I cussed with greater specificity.

At one point, I was trying to force a screw into a hole. “Would you just get in the damn hole?”

That’s what she said.

Then, immediately: You know, Judith, this is probably why people hate you.

Apparently, I can’t even assemble a stairstepper without turning into somebody’s inappropriate uncle.

But it was funny to me, and I was the only person who had shown up to help.

I kept working. And eventually, the pieces started looking like the thing I had actually ordered.

I figured it the fuck out.

No call to Dad. No man required. Just me, the instructions, and language that would have made this a deeply inappropriate family activity.

As I write this, I am actually exercising on the stairstepper I put together myself. That smile in the picture? I earned it.

That thing sat on my couch for weeks because I didn’t have the energy to figure out one more thing. When you spend your days making decisions, solving problems, and being the person who is supposed to know what happens next, a box of unfamiliar parts can sit there a while. Today, I finally had enough in me to tackle it, and I’m letting myself enjoy that without immediately moving on to everything else that needs my attention.

Tonight, I built something. It works. I’m using it. And I’m proud as hell of myself.

For once, I’m absolutely delighted to be getting nowhere.

I’m a lawyer but I’m now accepting bids for construction work.

Judith Hampton

Attorney at Law

Hampton Law Firm, LLC