A colleague tried to offload her reports onto me. I simply forwarded her request to the boss with the message, Please help Alice, shes struggling.
Alice joined our department about eighteen months ago. Shes a pleasant, well-groomed woman, diligent at her job, and a mum to two kids. At first, her requests seemed innocent enough: Oh, Im stuck at the GPs, could you take my call? or Ive got to pick up my child early from nursery, could you help upload my report? Its just a couple of clicks. Our team is used to lending a hand, and I thought it was only right to support a colleague in need.
But theres a fine line between helping out and someone quietly making you their personal assistant. After a few months, those couple of clicks had somehow morphed into entire chunks of work. Alice would send me messages at five oclock tagged with: Youre here until six anyway, and my youngest is poorly. Classic psychological play: the guilt trip and the social script. In England, a mothers plight is sacred a card she played exceedingly well, until I realised my reserves were drying up.
Alice crafted the image of a perpetually rushing, heroic woman juggling household calamities and work deadlines. But heres the reality: our salaries were exactly the same, only my evenings belonged to me, while parts of her workload started squatting on my desk. The first time I gently refused, citing my own busy schedule, she hit me with some passive-aggressive charm: You dont have kids, you dont get what its like to be pulled in a million directions. Thats the classic trap the manipulator tells you your reasons are less important.
The drama peaked at the end of the quarter. We had to hand in consolidated sales spreadsheets fiddly work that needs concentration. At 16:45, I got an email from Alice: a bundle of raw data, and the note: Theyve changed the date for the nursery play, I have to dash. Can you finish it, guru? Itll take you 15 minutes, and Ive nowhere to put my child. Will owe you one tomorrow. At that moment, I realised that saying yes would sign away my personal time for months. A blunt refusal would spark tears and complaints, so I needed a smarter move shifting the conversation from personal favours to office processes.
No angry reply. Instead, I forwarded the email to our line manager, Mr. Richard Browning, with a polite message: Good afternoon, Richard. Forwarding Alices email. Shes having to leave her work to colleagues due to family issues and cant cope with the workload during office hours. Id be grateful if you could help Alice perhaps her task load could be reviewed, or a temporary part-time arrangement considered, so she can manage her family without overwhelming the department. Today Im fully committed to my own tasks and cant take on her report without compromising quality.
Hitting Send was nerve-wracking. Thoughts spun: Is this grassing? Shell hate me. But honestly, playing stand-in for someone else was wearing thin.
The response was immediate. Richard Browning hadnt realised how much of Alices work Id been doing; for him, everything looked perfectly normal. The next morning, Alice was called into his office. I wasnt privy to the details, but she emerged red-faced and quietly subdued. She never again asked me to pick up or finish her work.
People might say, You should be kinder, children are sacred. Absolutely but kindness at someone elses cost is exploitation. A colleague genuinely struggling goes to the manager and arranges remote work, flexible hours or annual leave, not quietly overloads others.
What I did wasnt revenge I just drew a boundary. In business, unspoken acceptance means youre fine with the situation. Alices requests dried up. Now, were formally polite, and the department functions as before. Turns out, Alice is perfectly capable when shes not trying to hand off her duties.
