You leave on Friday. Priya is taking your work and Priya is already full. Being thorough is the trap — she cannot absorb four years, and a document she'll never read is a way of making yourself feel better.
The Scene 🎬
Forty minutes. Four years. You are going to have to leave most of it out.
Everything you know about this job lives in your head and nowhere else — which supplier answers the phone, which report nobody actually reads, what to do when the reconciliation comes back green and shouldn't.
The instinct is to write it all down. Resist it: a forty-page document is something you produce to feel responsible, and she will read four pages of it in a panic in three weeks' time. What she can actually hold is three things that will bite her, one relationship that keeps it upright, and an honest account of what you never fixed.
Priya is competent, already carrying the Alvarez account, and slightly resentful about the extra load — which she is far too professional to say.
Have you ever inherited someone's job? What did you need in the first week that nobody told you?
How much of what you do could actually be written down? What could only be learned by doing it?
YouLeaving Friday. Fond of this job, slightly proprietorial about it, and about to have to say what you never got round to.
PriyaTaking it on. Sharp, already full, and being professional about a workload nobody asked her whether she wanted.
First: read the conversation and watch everything You chooses not to say. The handover works because of what gets left out — and Priya interrupts twice to steer you back to what she actually needs.
The Conversation 💬
A meeting room, Wednesday. She's brought a notebook and no laptop.
YouRight. So — I could talk for three hours, so stop me. What do you actually need?
PriyaRight. Sorry — I've got till, um, till about half two, because I've got the thing with — anyway. Will that do?
YouThat's plenty. Honestly, forty minutes is plenty if we don't do the tour.
PriyaGood. Then — what's going to go wrong. That's it, really. Because I've already got the Alvarez account and now I've obviously got — no. Sorry. Go on.
You…Noted. And I'm sorry about that, genuinely. Right — there are three things that'll bite you. Everything else is in the folder.
PriyaThree. Good. Go.
YouFirst one's the monthly reconciliation. It's green. It's been green for about two years, which is sort of the problem — this is the one that looks fine and isn't. The tolerance was set back when we were on the old— no. Doesn't matter. Forget that bit. Just: don't trust the green.
PriyaDon't trust the green. Right.
YouSecond — if it goes wrong, it'll go wrong at the quarter-end upload, and it'll be a Thursday. That's not a joke, it's genuinely always a Thursday. Keep that afternoon free.
PriyaAnd the third?
YouThe thing that isn't in any document is that it all runs on Ferran. He's not senior, he's not on the org chart anywhere near this — but if Ferran likes you, the whole thing takes a week. If he doesn't, it takes a month and nobody can tell you why.
PriyaFerran in logistics? Really?
YouFerran in logistics. Buy him a coffee in your first week. Also — officially it's a two-week process. It isn't. Budget three, and tell people three.
PriyaRight. That's — that's actually useful. What else isn't true?
YouHa. Fair question. And one more thing, which is the awkward one — the supplier audit. I never got to it, and I should have. It's eighteen months overdue and nobody's asked, which is why it's still overdue.
PriyaRight. Is that a me problem now?
YouIt's a you problem now, and I'm sorry. But it's yours — you don't need my permission to change any of it. Don't inherit my way of doing it just because it's mine.
PriyaNoted. Can I ring you?
YouRing me for a month. After that, honestly, don't — you'll be better at it than me by then and I'll only slow you down.
From memory — don't scroll back up.
Priya starts to say something and stops herself. What was she about to say, and how does You respond?
What are the three things that will bite her? Name all three.
Why does You limit the offer of help to a month?
1. That she's already got the Alvarez account and is now getting this too — the resentment, half-said and stopped. You doesn't ignore it: "Noted. And I'm sorry about that, genuinely."
2. The reconciliation that's been green for two years and shouldn't be trusted; the quarter-end upload that always fails on a Thursday; and Ferran in logistics, who isn't on any org chart and decides whether things take a week or a month.
3. Because she'll be better at it than him by then, and an open-ended offer keeps her dependent — and gets abused by both of them.
Useful Phrases 🧰
Ten phrases for handing your work to someone else — being useful about what you know and honest about what you didn't do. They work for any handover, briefing or leaving. Say each out loud BEFORE you reveal it.
Say it like you mean it. Brisk. The enemy here is fondness — you like this job and you want to explain it properly, and that impulse will fill forty minutes with things she cannot use. Every time you feel a tangent starting, stop mid-sentence and move on. Cutting yourself off out loud is more useful than finishing the thought.
📋 Setting the shape
Phrase 1
The job: handing her the agenda instead of imposing yours. Put the pieces in order:
so stop me —I could talk for three hours,what do you actually need?
"I could talk for three hours, so stop me — what do you actually need?" Two jobs. It admits you have far more than fits, which gives her permission to interrupt — and she will, twice. And it asks what she needs rather than telling her what you know, which is the difference between a handover and a lecture. Actually signals you want her real priority, not politeness.
Take it anywhere: "I could talk for hours, so stop me — what do you actually need?"
Phrase 2
The job: ruthless triage, announced up front. Complete it:
"There are ___ things that'll bite you. Everything else is in the folder."
"There are three things that'll bite you. Everything else is in the folder." To say something will bite you is to say it will cause you trouble, usually later and unexpectedly. Three is the number a person can hold; thirty is a number they nod at. The second half is what makes the triage honest — you're not pretending three is everything, you're saying it's everything that matters today.
Take it anywhere: "There are three things that'll bite you. Everything else is in the folder."
💣 Naming the landmines
Phrase 3
The job: flagging the danger no document flags — the thing that looks healthy. Complete it:
"This is the one that looks ___ and isn't."
"This is the one that looks fine and isn't." Documentation records what's known to be broken. It cannot record the thing that shows green on a dashboard and has been quietly wrong for two years, because if anyone had known, they'd have fixed it. This is precisely the sort of knowledge that leaves the building with you, which is why it goes first.
Take it anywhere: "This is the one that looks fine and isn't."
Phrase 4
The job: being specific about where and when it'll fail. Say it out loud, then write it.
e.g. "If it goes wrong, it'll go wrong at the quarter-end upload, and it'll be a Thursday." The oddly specific detail is what makes it memorable and useful — she'll remember "a Thursday" long after she's forgotten a paragraph about batch processing. Real operational knowledge is nearly always this shape: a place, a time, and a pattern nobody has written down because it sounds too silly to put in a document.
Take it anywhere: "If it goes wrong, it'll go wrong at ___, and it'll be a ___."
🕸️ The bit nobody writes down
Phrase 5
The job: naming the relationship the whole thing actually rests on. Which version?
A. "You'll want to build good relationships across the business, obviously."
B. "The thing that isn't in any document is that it all runs on Ferran."
C. "Logistics can be a bit difficult sometimes, just so you know."
B — "The thing that isn't in any document is that it all runs on Ferran." A is advice, and advice is useless — everybody already intends to have good relationships. C is a warning so vague she can't act on it. B names a person. Every job has a Ferran: someone junior on the chart who is the actual bottleneck, and whose goodwill is the difference between a week and a month. Handing over the name is worth more than the folder.
Take it anywhere: "The thing that isn't in any document is that it all runs on ___."
Phrase 6
The job: correcting the official version with the real one. Complete it:
"___ it's a two-week process. It isn't."
"Officially it's a two-week process. It isn't." The gap between the official version and the real one is most of what you actually know after four years, and none of it is written down anywhere — because writing it down would mean admitting the official version is wrong. "Officially" is the flag; the two-word correction is the gift.
Take it anywhere: "Officially it's ___. It isn't." Use it for timescales, approvals, processes, anything.
🪞 Being honest about your own mess
Phrase 7
The job: admitting the thing you never did — before she finds it. Complete it:
"I never ___ ___ this, and I ___ have."
"I never got to this, and I should have." She will find it in six weeks whatever you do, and finding it will be worse than being told. The second half — "and I should have" — is what stops it being an excuse: you're not explaining the eighteen months, you're conceding them. Short, complete, no story attached.
Take it anywhere: "I never got to ___, and I should have."
Phrase 8
The job: cutting yourself off when you start explaining something she doesn't need. Say it out loud, then write it.
e.g. "The tolerance was set back when we were on the old— no. Doesn't matter. Forget that bit." Stopping yourself mid-sentence is more useful than finishing. It shows you know the difference between what's interesting to you and what's usable by her — and it models the discipline the whole handover needs. Say "forget that bit" out loud; don't just trail off, or she'll think it mattered and write it down.
Take it anywhere: "No — doesn't matter. Forget that bit."
🔓 Letting go of it
Phrase 9
The job: freeing her to do it differently. Put the pieces in order:
just because it's mine.Don't inheritmy way of doing it
"Don't inherit my way of doing it just because it's mine." To inherit something is to receive it from a predecessor — and people inherit working methods far more than they mean to, out of politeness. Saying this explicitly gives her permission to throw out what doesn't suit her, which is the whole point of handing something over. It's also generous in a way that costs you nothing except your pride.
Take it anywhere: "Don't inherit my way of doing it just because it's mine."
Phrase 10
The job: offering help, with an end date. Which version?
A. "Ring me any time, honestly — day or night, whenever you need."
B. "Ring me for a month. After that, honestly, don't."
C. "I'm sure you'll be fine — it's all in the folder."
B — "Ring me for a month. After that, honestly, don't." A sounds generous and helps nobody: an unbounded offer gets either ignored or abused, and it keeps her checking with you instead of becoming the person who knows. C abandons her. B is generous and bounded — it names a real window, and the second half is a compliment disguised as a refusal. She'll be better at it than you by then.
Take it anywhere: "Ring me for a month. After that, don't."
🔑 Make them yours
These work for any handover — a job, a project, a role in a club, a house you're selling. Say each answer out loud before you type it.
"There are three things that'll bite you." — for your own job, what are the three?
"The thing that isn't in any document is that it all runs on ___." — who's your Ferran?
"Officially it's ___. It isn't." — what's the gap between the official version and the real one?
Quick test: run it out loud using all ten — stop me, what do you need → three things → looks fine and isn't → where and when it breaks → it all runs on → officially it isn't → never got to it → forget that bit → don't inherit my way → ring me for a month. Time it. Under ten minutes means you've triaged; twenty means you gave the tour.
Your Turn 🎭
Now you hand it over. Twice — once giving, once receiving.
Round 1 — you're leaving
Same handover, same Priya — she's sat down with a notebook and forty minutes. Every fact you need is already in this lesson; use it.
PriyaRight — sorry, I've got till about half two. Will that do?
Tell her that's plenty, then hand her the agenda.
PriyaGood. Then — what's going to go wrong. That's what I need, really.
Announce the triage number, then give landmine one — the reconciliation that's been green for two years and shouldn't be trusted.
PriyaDon't trust the green. Right. What's next?
Be oddly specific about landmine two — where and when it actually breaks.
PriyaUnderstood. Go on.
Name the person it all runs on — Ferran in logistics — then correct the official two-week timeline.
PriyaWait — you were about to explain something else there.
Catch yourself mid-tangent and wave it off.
PriyaRight. What else isn't true?
Admit the supplier audit you never got to, confirm it's hers now, free her to do it her own way, and offer help — with an end date.
Round 2 — now you're taking it on
Swap. This time you're the one receiving it — Renzo's leaving Goods-In and it's landing on you Friday. Same forty minutes: he only gets three things in, and it's your job to hold onto them.
RenzoRight — I could do the full tour, but let's not. Twenty minutes: what do you actually need from me?
Tell him the time's fine, then ask him to focus on what's going to go wrong.
RenzoFair. The one that'll really bite you: the parts count in the system. It's shown "reconciled" for months, and it isn't — nobody's opened a box to check since spring. And none of this works without Halima on the loading bay: get her onside and short deliveries sort themselves same day.
Say the warning back so he knows it's landed, and ask how you actually get on her good side.
RenzoBuy her a coffee in week one. Last thing — the loan pallets from Briggs Haulage. I never chased their return. It's been outstanding since January. It's yours now.
Respond honestly, and ask whether you're free to handle it your own way rather than his.
⚡ The twist
Twenty minutes in, Priya puts her pen down and asks the question you were hoping she wouldn't: "Why did the last two people in this role leave?"
The honest answer is the same reason you're leaving, it isn't flattering to anyone, and she's about to take the job either way. What do you say?
Before you close the tab…
Can you ask what someone needs instead of telling them what you know?
Can you name three things rather than thirty?
Can you hand over the person, not just the process?
Can you admit what you never got round to, without explaining it away?
Can you offer help with an end date on it?
The Echo 🕰️
The Library of Alexandria did not burn down in a single night, whatever the story says. It declined — funding withdrawn, scholars dispersed, one fire, then neglect, then centuries. Nobody decided to lose it.
What went with it wasn't only the scrolls. It was the people who knew where things were, which copy was reliable, which translation had an error in book four. That kind of knowledge doesn't sit on a shelf; it sits in somebody's head and walks out of the building with them.
Your four years are the same shape. The folder is the scrolls. Ferran, the green reconciliation, the Thursday — that's the librarian, and forty minutes is all you get to hand him over.