I automated my entire job and no one at work knows.

I work for a very large IT support company. On paper, my role is to investigate when something breaks in a client’s system, figure out what went wrong, and then write clear instructions explaining how they should fix it. I don’t actually fix anything myself. I analyze, document, and advise.

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At least, that’s what the job used to be.

About a month ago, something clicked. I already pay for an advanced AI tool for personal use, and out of curiosity more than ambition, I started experimenting with it. I fed it the same information I’m allowed to access at work. System logs. Old support tickets. Internal documentation. Notes about how certain clients consistently mess things up in the exact same ways.

That’s when I realized something unsettling.

The AI was better at my job than I was.

Now my workday looks like this. I copy and paste the support request into the AI. It scans the logs, cross references the documentation, identifies the root cause, and writes a clean, structured explanation with step by step instructions on how to fix it.

Out of an entire day’s workload, maybe one or two cases need light editing. The rest are basically perfect.

What used to take me hours of focused investigation now takes minutes.

My actual job has quietly shifted into something else entirely. I pace my replies so they do not look suspiciously fast. I tweak phrasing so the responses sound more like me and less like something generated. I spend most of the day waiting, pretending to be busy, or deliberately not responding too quickly so no one gets uncomfortable.

That’s it. That’s my contribution.

I have effectively automated my own job out of existence, and nobody at work knows.

There’s a weird mix of emotions that comes with this. On one hand, I feel clever. Efficient. Like I cracked some hidden system. On the other hand, I feel uneasy. Like I’m sitting in a quiet room waiting for someone to notice the lights are on but no one’s home.

Sometimes I wonder if this is the future of work and I just got there early. Other times I wonder if I’m digging my own grave by proving that my role never really needed a human in the first place.

I don’t know if I’ll ever tell them. Right now, the silence feels safer.

But every day I log in, send my carefully delayed replies, and wonder how long this invisible arrangement can last.

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