So, this whole “50 Jordan” business, huh? It still gives me a bit of a headache just thinking about it, to be honest.
It all kicked off pretty simply. I got this order – 50 identical pieces. Sounds like a walk in the park, right? Yeah, that’s what I figured too. The client, well, let’s just call him Jordan for the sake of this story, was incredibly specific. Like, every tiny detail had to be spot on, and the same across all 50. No room for “close enough.”
Getting Started, or So I Thought
My first thought was, okay, I’ll get a system going. A kind of mini assembly line, right there in my workshop. So, I went and gathered all my materials, laid out all my tools. I was actually feeling pretty optimistic at the start. Convinced I’d blast through ‘em in a week, maybe two if I took a couple of breathers.
- First job: getting the base material ready for all 50. Super repetitive, but I could manage.
- Next up: the main assembly. This is where things started to get… well, let’s say interesting.
- Then came the finishing touches, which this Jordan guy was mega fussy about.
The first five actually went alright. A bit slow, but I was making progress. I was sort of finding my groove. But then, somewhere around number six or seven, the real slog began. Not just my hands getting tired, but my brain too. Doing that same fiddly task over, and over, and over, all while knowing you’ve got more than 40 still to go… that’s a special kind of mental torture.
The Grind and the Glitches
And wouldn’t you know it, stuff started to go sideways. That’s just typical, isn’t it? When you’re trying to churn things out and keep the quality up, that’s when things break. A tiny slip of my tool on piece number 12, and bam, that one was pretty much a write-off, had to start it again from scratch. Then, around number 20, my supplier sent over a bad batch of some vital component. I ended up stuck, waiting three whole days for a replacement, with Jordan pinging my email every single day wanting to know what was up. You can just picture it.
I clearly remember one evening, I think I was slogging through number 33. I’d been at it for what felt like forever. My eyes were practically crossed, and my back was killing me. I just found myself sitting there, staring at this half-done thing, and thinking, why on earth did I say yes to this? Fifty! What a number. Why not ten? Or even twenty-five would have been bad enough! Fifty is just plain soul-destroying when each one takes an age of pure concentration.
My workshop started to look like a bomb had hit it. Piles of bits and pieces, tools scattered everywhere, little rejects tossed in a corner. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I was pretty much eating, sleeping, and breathing these Jordan things. My family must’ve thought I’d finally cracked.
Finally Seeing the Light (Sort Of)
Bit by bit, I managed to get into some kind of rhythm. A really tired, slightly grumpy rhythm, but it was a rhythm all the same. Those last ten were just a massive blur. I was basically on autopilot, running on fumes, coffee, and just this huge urge to be finished with the whole darn thing. That final piece, number 50, honestly felt like I’d climbed Everest.
When I finally got them all packed up and ready to go, I didn’t feel that big wave of achievement you sometimes get. Mostly, it was just pure relief. And I made a quiet promise to myself to never, ever take on an order for 50 identical, super-detailed whatevers ever again. Or if I do, I’m charging an absolute fortune.
So yeah, “50 Jordan.” It wasn’t about sneakers, not for me anyway. It was a serious test of my patience, a big lesson in managing what I thought I could do (mostly my own silly ideas), and a stark reminder that sometimes, the tasks that sound the easiest can turn into the biggest headaches. I got through it in the end, though. That’s the main thing, I suppose. But if you asked me to do it all over again? Nah, I’m good, thanks.
