It happened when I was a team manager at a branch office.
There were usually more than thirty teachers at the branch. On the other hand, there were only two people handling administrative work. Looking back, I know their job could not have been easy. Every day, they had to deal with questions, requests, mistakes, repeated explanations, urgent matters, and sometimes complaints. I did not fail to understand that.
Still, over time, I began to notice something that bothered me. One young administrative staff member, who had only recently begun working, was starting to speak to the teachers in a sharper tone. Sometimes there was irritation in her voice. At other times, it sounded less like support and more like scolding.
At first, I let it pass. I told myself she was young. I told myself the workload was heavy. I told myself that dealing with more than thirty teachers every day would be difficult for anyone. And all of that was true.
But the same kind of scene kept repeating itself. The teachers began to complain, little by little. Not loudly, not dramatically, but enough for me to know that the atmosphere was changing. I thought about speaking to her several times, but each time I hesitated.
Part of me wanted to be understanding. Another part of me thought that if a person learned the wrong way to work at the beginning of their career, it could stay with them for a long time.
At that time, I had a rather firm standard about support work. Some of it came from my earlier years at Samsung, where I had seen how professional support departments could be. Even when the work was difficult, the best people did not forget what their role was. They knew that their job was not only to process tasks, but to help others do their work better.
That idea stayed with me. So when I saw someone in a support role speaking harshly to the people she was supposed to support, I could not simply treat it as a matter of personality or mood. To me, it was a matter of responsibility.
A few weeks passed that way. Then one day, during a staff meeting, it happened again. Several teachers were present. The young staff member’s tone became sharp once more. In that moment, I felt that if I remained silent again, I would not be doing my own job as a manager.
So I spoke.
I said, “Administrative work exists to help teachers do their jobs well. I know it is difficult, but you should not speak to them that way.”
The room went quiet. She lowered her head and quietly wiped away tears.
Even so, I did not feel good. I had not said those words because I disliked her. I was not trying to embarrass her. The complaints from the teachers were real, and as the team manager, I believed the issue could not be ignored. Even now, I do not think the message itself was wrong.
But the way I delivered it was clumsy.
I should have called her aside and spoken to her privately. I should have asked first how difficult things had been for her. I should have listened before correcting her. I should have acknowledged the pressure of dealing with so many people every day. Only after that should I have explained, calmly and privately, that in a support role, tone matters. Attitude matters. The way a person speaks can either make work easier for everyone or make the whole office feel heavier.
The point may have been right. But I delivered it in the wrong way.
At the time, I was still young as a manager. I cared about standards, but I did not always know how to carry them gently. I believed that being clear was the same as being effective. Later, I learned that this is not always true. A message can be correct and still leave a wound.
Fortunately, the relationship did not fall apart after that day. We worked in the same office and saw each other every day. There was no way to avoid one another, and perhaps that helped.
I did not make a dramatic apology. I did not call her in and give some long speech. The next day, I simply treated her as I always had. I spoke to her naturally, asked for the work that needed to be done, and did not act as if yesterday’s moment had changed everything between us.
A few days later, the awkwardness began to fade. We returned to our usual rhythm. In some ways, the relationship may even have become more comfortable than before. Her attitude toward the teachers also became a little more careful.
But a decent outcome does not make the method right. Just because things did not end badly does not mean I handled the moment well.
Even now, I still believe that people should not forget the responsibility that comes with their position. Whether someone is a manager, a teacher, an administrator, or a support staff member, every role carries its own weight. That was what I wanted to say that day.
But that day also taught me something else.
The person who speaks about responsibility has a responsibility too.
Back then, I wanted to teach her the weight of her role. Years later, I realized that I had also been taught the weight of mine.