I never planned to become a workplace vigilante. But when Harper crossed the line from demanding boss to outright bully, someone had to stop her. It started innocently enough – the occasional personal favor between marketing reports. Then came the 6am texts, the midnight Slack pings, the tearful rants about her divorce.
The breaking point came when she cornered me in her office. “Date night,” she announced. “Either watch my kids or clean out your desk.” What she didn’t know? I’d spent my lunch breaks interviewing elsewhere. That morning, I’d signed with a company that understood professional boundaries.
So I played along. Showed up at her McMansion. Waited until her Uber pulled away. Then I did what she’d refused to do for months – gave Lucas equal parenting time. The voicemails started before I’d even left the neighborhood.
Now I work somewhere that doesn’t confuse job descriptions with indentured servitude. My only regret? Not recording Harper’s meltdown when she realized the help had quit – and taken her power trip down with them.
