He clicked on it. His vision got fuzzy. He slumped back in the chair. He felt his clothing melting through him, until he was naked sitting on his now empty clothing. Then he wasn't. It was disorienting. He was in boxes. Lots of boxes. It smelled of damp cardboard.
"Okay, boys, the football team's starting practice tomorrow, so we have to get this assembled completely today," said the foreman.
The sound of cardboard being cut and ripped followed. Daylight streamed in.
"When I was on a team, we scrubbed ourselves in the showers," commented one of the workmen, as he selected some pipes out of the boxes and began screwing them together. The pipes were you. It was very disconcerting. A half dozen hands were all over you at once. You are a machine that scrubs athletes? Cool.
"Be careful with this, it's a loaner, so when the season's over we have to disassemble it," said the foreman.
"What's this hose for?" asked one of the men holding up part of you. The parts didn't correspond with what you thought of as your body parts.
"Read the instructions, it's got a tiny number or letter on it. See Hose 69 goes in articulated clamp 69. Don't grab a part until you know where it goes," admonished the foreman.
It did take most of the day, but you were starting to take shape. All the shower heads in the football team's shower room had been removed. You filled the room and were piped into all the former shower head spouts. Various armatures, strips of fabric, sponges, buffers, and other things you're not yet able to describe are attached the network of pipes and sprayers that you now are. You are a like car wash for people-specifically men.