Alright, let me tell you about the “2200 scissors” episode. It’s one of those work stories that just sticks with you, you know? Not because it was glorious, but because it was just… a lot. And kinda pointless, when I look back.
The Grand Plan That Wasn’t Mine
It all kicked off when someone high up decided we needed these fancy new “welcome kits” for every single new person joining the company. We were growing, sure, but 2200 of them? That was the initial order. And part of these kits, the real pain point, was this little custom-branded doodad. Looked simple, but oh boy, it wasn’t.
Guess who got volunteered to “oversee the final assembly and quality check” for this specific item? Yep, yours truly. Because I’m “detail-oriented,” which is office speak for “willing to do the tedious stuff no one else wants.” The problem was, these doodads arrived from the supplier in a state that was, let’s say, less than perfect. Each one needed a bit of a trim, a little snip here and there to make it look presentable. And the tool for the job? Scissors. Lots and lots of cutting.
Drowning in Scissors and Snippets
So, picture this: me, a mountain of these components, and a seemingly endless supply of scissors. At first, I thought, “Okay, I can manage this.” I set up a little workstation. Got a comfy chair. Put on some music. How bad could it be?
Bad. It got bad.
Here’s a taste of what went down:
- The first batch of scissors we bought were cheap. Like, really cheap. After about 50 snips, they’d be duller than a conversation about weather. So, more budget wasted on getting decent ones.
- Then, the blisters. My thumb and forefinger were raw for weeks. I tried gloves, but it slowed me down too much.
- The sheer monotony. Snip, inspect, toss. Snip, inspect, toss. For hours. Days, it felt like. I started dreaming about it. 2200 of these things. That’s a lot of snips.
- And the mess! Tiny plastic or paper offcuts everywhere. It was like a weird, corporate confetti explosion had happened in my corner of the office.
I wasn’t just checking 2200 items; I was effectively finishing their manufacturing. People would walk by and look at me with pity, or sometimes just confusion. “Still at it?” they’d ask. Yeah, still at it.
The Big “So What?”
We finally got through them all. The 2200 doodads were snipped, packed, and ready. I felt a weird sense of accomplishment, like I’d conquered some pointless, papery Everest. My hands ached, my eyes were tired, but it was done.
And then, the kicker. A few months later, there was a big strategy shift. A hiring freeze. The grand expansion plans were scaled back. Those welcome kits? A good chunk of them, probably hundreds, ended up sitting in a storage closet. I saw them once, gathering dust.
All that work. All those snips. For what? To sit in a dark room.
That whole “2200 scissors” thing, it didn’t make me quit on the spot or anything dramatic like in the movies. But it did plant a seed. It made me really think about what I was spending my days doing. Pouring energy into tasks that, in the grand scheme of things, just didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the scissors, not really. It was about the value of my time, my effort.
It took a while after that, but eventually, I did move on from that place. Found something where “detail-oriented” meant working on stuff that actually saw the light of day, that made a real difference. And you know what? My hands are much happier now.
