When Help Arrives Uninvited
This story is inspired by a real interaction. Details have been fictionalized to illuminate a pattern, not a person.
Working late one night in his office, the ED was just about to pack up when an urgent email appeared in his inbox.
Subject: I would like to speak to a manager
From: Karen
Since there was half an hour before his commuter express arrived, he decided to read it.
Karen was concerned. Very concerned. After reviewing the organization’s website, she felt compelled to inform him that its Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion practices were lacking. Specifically, she noted, there did not appear to be “proper representation” within the organization.
He replied politely, explaining that TechArts took equity seriously and that her conclusions were based on incomplete information.
Undeterred, Karen responded immediately.
She generously offered a free consultation.
Before he could decline, there was a knock at the door.
Standing in the doorway was Karen herself, armed with a notepad, a laptop, several spreadsheets, and — how she had transported it remained a mystery — an interactive whiteboard.
She swept past him without waiting for permission.
Within minutes, the board was filled with charts, arrows, budget projections, and something labeled “Quick Wins.” She spoke rapidly, citing best practices, industry benchmarks, and examples from “similar grassroots organizations.”
One organization had a $1.2 million budget.
Another employed three full-time DEI consultants.
Several paid six-figure salaries to junior staff.
“These are all grassroots,” Karen said gently, as if delivering a kindness.
The ED nodded, slowly.
He tried to mention that his organization’s annual budget was $100,000, less than the salary of one of the junior staff members in her “grassroots” organization.
That he paid contractors $25–$35 an hour when he could.
That “volunteer coordinator” was currently one of his many unpaid titles.
But Karen was already drawing Phase Two.
Before he could finish his sentence, she packed up her whiteboard, smiled warmly, and vanished as suddenly as she had arrived.
The only thing left behind was an invoice.
$10,000 — Due Upon Receipt
No address.
No phone number.
Just a URL.
Determined not to pay a bill for help he hadn’t asked for, the ED typed the link into his browser.
The screen flickered.
The room spun.
And suddenly, he was sucked into his computer.
The Place Where Help Comes From
He landed in a vast plaza paved with grant applications.
Glass buildings towered above him, labeled Capacity Building, Scaling Impact, and Best Practices. Consultants hurried past, speaking exclusively in acronyms. Somewhere, a panel discussion was always beginning.
At the center of it all sat Karen.
She was perched atop a throne made entirely of volunteers, stacked carefully, shoulder to shoulder, holding clipboards, branded tote bags, and reusable water bottles. They smiled politely. Their knees trembled.
“Oh good,” Karen said. “You found me.”
The ED took a breath and began to speak.
He told her about choosing between payroll and printer ink.
About stretching $65,000 across twelve months.
About repairing equipment with duct tape and borrowed tools.
About doing stage management, grant writing, IT support, and community outreach, sometimes on the same day.
As he spoke, Karen began to shrink.
At first, it was subtle.
When he mentioned paying people fairly when possible, she looked down at her hands. They were smaller.
When he explained that he had personally done the very job she criticized, unpaid, for over a year, Karen clutched the armrests of her throne.
“I don’t think that’s relevant,” she said, her voice suddenly higher.
The throne wobbled.
The volunteers beneath her shifted.
When he said, “Sometimes grassroots just means surviving,” Karen gasped.
“I’m shrinking,” she whispered.
Her spreadsheets fluttered to the ground. Her whiteboard erased itself. With a final look of disbelief, Karen melted away entirely, leaving behind nothing but a faint lavender scent and a broken URL.
The throne collapsed.
The volunteers stood up.
They stretched. They laughed. Someone started music. Someone else found snacks. There was dancing, the kind that happens when pressure finally lifts.
Then everything faded.
The ED jolted awake.
He was back in his office, slumped over his desk. The email was still open on his screen.
No invoice.
No URL.
No Karen.
He closed the message, deleted it, grabbed his bag, and boarded the train.
Tomorrow, there would be more work to do.
Closing Note
This story is inspired by real experiences common to many leaders of Black-led and under-resourced organizations.
A few lessons from the story:
Grassroots is not a vibe, it’s a budget.
Help that begins with correction rarely feels like help.
Comparisons without scale distort reality.
Listening is more valuable than expertise offered too quickly.
Sometimes the most equitable response is to delete the email and keep going.
