{Disclaimer: I still adore weddings and sparkles…and glitter that sparkles. I’ll still be using this platform to share my Robin Hooding adventures in wedding wonderfulness. But in the sake of efficiency…and sanity…decided why not use this little soap box for mixing business and pleasure?}

1:49 AM. Ping. My email proclaimed the announcement of the novella titled “Not My Job”.

First. Wow! After 5PM. Impressive, but maybe we should talk about balance…

Second. My response. After reconsidering my ridiculous request to go beyond the team’s automated processes (What.Was.I.Thinking.). I whole-heartedly agree. Please pack your things. A security member will escort you from the office.

Third. Oh how I wish I could hit reply. Must. Hit. Send. Delete.

Now in the bright hours of the morning, I allow myself a little self-indulge fest imagining this scene playing out. And I realize in this situation the only way I have to prevent rehashing these not my job scenes, is to make it MY JOB. In that I mean:

“I’m CEO bitch”

Zuck style.

But all kidding aside these personalities make me sad. They have the ability to counter any positive, inspirational infusion in the workplace, and then some.

Coming off the Feb issue of Fast Company. A front to (flipped) back salute to the power of creative collaboration and investment. Filled with innovative, leading companies and team (can you imagine one of the founders of Facebook saying, “Sorry team. Not my job”?). I have to ask what do you risk by saying not my job.

What could you gain by making it so?

{I’m mobile kids. Play nice with the grammar police}