I’ve worked in LA for four years, and when my American boss found out I was originally from Paris, he got excited—because he was planning a trip there with his wife. At the end of my shift, he sent me a three-page email asking for restaurant recommendations, sightseeing tips, and even a sample itinerary. The kicker? He wrote, “Fill this out tonight and send it back by morning.” I stared at the screen in disbelief. I’m a project coordinator, not a travel agent. I smiled politely, but inside, I was boiling. This wasn’t a favor—it was a demand.
I didn’t respond that night. Instead, I came in early the next morning and handed him a printed note: “I’m happy to share a few personal favorites, but I won’t be planning your trip.” He looked stunned. I explained that my job ends when my shift does, and I wasn’t comfortable being asked to do unpaid labor outside my role. He tried to laugh it off, saying, “It’s just a few suggestions.” But we both knew it was more than that. It was about boundaries—and his complete disregard for them.
Later that day, HR called me in. Apparently, my boss had complained that I was “uncooperative.” I calmly explained the situation and showed them the email. HR sided with me, saying I wasn’t obligated to fulfill personal requests. Still, the tension lingered. My boss stopped greeting me, stopped including me in meetings, and made it clear I was no longer in his good graces. But I didn’t regret it. I’d drawn a line—and I stood by it.
Over the next few weeks, I noticed other coworkers quietly cheering me on. One said, “You did what we all wish we could.” Another admitted she’d once been asked to book his hotel. It wasn’t just me—this was a pattern. My refusal had exposed it. And while I wasn’t trying to start a movement, I was proud to be the first to say no. Respect at work isn’t just about titles—it’s about knowing when to push back.
Eventually, my boss left for Paris. He didn’t ask me for anything else. And when he returned, he was more subdued. Maybe he realized that treating employees like personal assistants isn’t leadership—it’s entitlement. I kept doing my job, kept my head high, and never apologized. Because I wasn’t rude—I was honest. And honesty, in a workplace full of blurred lines, is a rare kind of strength.
So here’s to the employees who say, “That’s not my job.” To the ones who protect their time, their dignity, and their sanity. To the quiet acts of defiance that remind bosses we’re not here to serve—we’re here to work. And to the truth that boundaries aren’t barriers—they’re bridges to respect.
