That’s Not What I Meant...

I went looking for a third shift job on purpose.

Not because I loved the idea of being awake all night…but because I had a brand new baby, and I wasn’t about to hand her over to daycare if I could help it.

So I made a plan.

I would work all night…and raise her all day.

Sleep?

Well… we’d figure that out later.

That’s how I ended up working the IT support desk for a company in downtown Austin.

Now let me just say this up front, I did not have a college degree. And I definitely did not know anything about computers.

Hardware? No siree.
Software? Not really.
Troubleshooting? We were about to find out.

And they made that very clear in the interview.

“We only hire college graduates.”

Well.

That got awkward real fast. But then…he hired me anyway.

To this day, I don’t know if he saw something in me…or if nobody else wanted to work third shift. Either way, I walked out of there knowing one thing:

I had something to prove.

Every job I’ve ever had, I made myself hard to replace. Not because I was confident…but because I didn’t feel like I measured up. When you don’t have the degree, you don’t just do the job.

You work twice as hard. You learn everything you can. You train the new hires…even the ones making more than you.

And you don’t complain. Because I wasn’t there for the title. I was there for my baby.

Now the help desk had three tiers.

Tier 1, that was me.

Which meant I had a script…and a whole lot of hope.

Password resets. Reboots.
“Have you tried turning it off and back on?”

And let me tell you something…when you don’t know what you’re doing, you learn real fast how to sound like you do. I didn’t have AI to help me…

Just a script…and whatever common sense I could pull together at 2:00 in the morning.

And I leaned on both of them.

Hard.

Over and over again. And eventually…through repetition…it started to feel like I knew what I was doing.

Third shift is a strange place.

Fluorescent lights humming.
Computer screens glowing.
And just enough silence to make your thoughts louder than they should be.

Some nights were so slow, I’d play solitaire just to stay awake. And that’s when the security guard would come by. Sweet man. Elderly. But he had very strong opinions about how I should play solitaire.

He’d stand right behind me, close enough that I could feel him breathing, and narrate every move.

“No, put that one there.”
“Now move that one.”

I tried playing faster than he could talk. Didn’t matter. He always caught up.

And the smell…Lord, the smell.

It was like bologna…but not fresh bologna. More like bologna that had been through some things.

By about 3:00 in the morning, exhaustion would hit in waves. And here’s the part I probably shouldn’t admit…I learned how to look like I was working.

Hands on the keyboard. Other hand on the mouse.

Eyes closed.

Completely asleep.

Sitting straight up like I was solving the world’s problems. Because I knew there were cameras. And as long as it looked like I was working…

Well…

that counted for something, right?

Now Tier 2 handled the harder stuff. Tier 3? Those were the certified engineers. The ones who actually knew what they were doing and worked with servers and entire networks for the client.

And I was told very clearly: “Do not take calls beyond your tier.”

Well.

That rule didn’t exactly hold up at 2:00 in the morning…when there was no Tier 2.

No Tier 3.

Just lil’ ole’ me.

One night, a man called in, frantic.

Servers were down. Nothing was working. That wasn’t my level.

That was Tier 2. Maybe Tier 3.

And I sat there for a second thinking…do I help him…or do I stay in my lane?

Well…you probably already know the answer.

I helped him.

Because I had been paying attention. Listening. Watching. Learning every time I escalated a ticket. And somehow…we fixed it!

Together.

And I could feel the relief on the other end of that phone. Something shifted in me that night. Not confidence exactly…but something close.

Then came the day that really tested me. A field tech pulled me into a room. Thirty computer units. Stacked up like they were waiting on me to fail.

“Just reformat the hard drives,” he said.

I looked at him.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

He sighed…did one real quick…and walked out. Leaving me with twenty-nine more.

And I swear…those machines looked like they were laughing at me.

But something in me said: Oh, hell no.

So I started.

One.

Then another.

Then another.

It didn’t go smoothly. I messed up. Backtracked. Tried again.

But I didn’t stop.

I finished every last one.

And that’s when everything started to change. My boss found out. And instead of fussing at me for going beyond my tier…he promoted me.

Tier 2.

Then eventually…

Tier 3.

From the one who wasn’t supposed to touch anything…to the one solving the problems.

And somewhere in the middle of all that…there was this call.

A woman told me her foot pedal wasn’t working. And I remember thinking…what in the world kind of setup does this woman have?

So I start asking questions.

Trying to follow my script…while also trying to make sense of what she’s saying.

Finally, I asked her to walk me through it.

And y’all…she had her mouse on the floor. Using it with her foot. Like an actual pedal.

I just sat there for a second. Because she wasn’t wrong. But she also wasn’t saying what I thought she was saying.

And the whole time we were talking…we weren’t talking about the same thing.

She had a picture in her mind. I had a completely different one.

And neither of us realized it at first.

Looking back now…that moment feels bigger than it did back then. Because it didn’t just happen on that help desk. It happens everywhere.

In conversations.
In relationships.
In the quiet moments where something is said…and something entirely different is heard. And most of the time, we don’t even catch it.

We fill in the gaps.
We assume.
We react.

All before we ever stop to ask…“Is that actually what they meant?”

But if I’m being honest…that wasn’t the only place I was misinterpreting things. Because while I was learning how to listen to other people…I wasn’t always listening to myself.

My body was exhausted.
My mind was pushing.

And somewhere underneath all that proving…was a quiet voice that kept saying:

You don’t have to do it this way.

But I didn’t listen.

Not then.

I pushed through.
I overrode it.
I proved it anyway.

And yes…that got me somewhere. It taught me I was capable. But it also showed me something else I didn’t understand at the time.

We don’t just misunderstand other people. We misunderstand ourselves.

We ignore the signals.
We override the feeling.
We push past what we already know.

All because we’ve already decided what something means.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This week, I had a conversation that brought me right back to that moment.

We talked about how often we’re not reacting to what’s actually said…but to what we think it means. And how quickly our brain fills in the gaps, based on past experiences, emotions, and patterns we don’t even realize we’re carrying.

But what stayed with me even more…was realizing how often we do that to ourselves. Because the pause isn’t just about what someone else says. It’s about noticing what you’re telling yourself in that moment.

And asking…

Is that actually true?

Or is that just the story I’ve been running?

If this story felt a little familiar…you’re not alone. And you don’t have to figure it all out at once.

Every Tuesday, I share short stories like this, real moments, a little humor, and just enough truth to help you pause, reflect, and maybe see something a little differently.

Then on Wednesdays and Thursdays, we go a little deeper.

You can join me here: https://newsletter.delaythebinge.com

And if you know someone who could use a weekly dose of a giggle…and a gentle reminder that they’re not alone in this becoming…feel free to share it with them.

Because sometimes the smallest shift…the smallest pause…is where everything begins to change.