The Time I Was Kicked Off A Team
My Group Said, “No Thanks, Sister”
Lately, I’ve been working in a very team-oriented environment. I’m part of a small but mighty coffee shop crew—about seven or eight of us—taking turns restocking ingredients, steaming milk into oblivion, and collectively trying to dodge any sub-5-star Yelp reviews.
What I love most is the built-in accountability. The state you leave the kitchen directly affects whoever’s coming in next. If you leave the steam wand crusty or forget to refill the vanilla, someone notices. And the reviews don’t just reflect one person—they reflect the team. It’s interdependent, and I thrive in that. Despite being a card-carrying introvert, I find working with people way less exhausting when we’re all moving toward a common goal.
And not to brag, but I think I’m a pretty great teammate. Like, aggressively average at most things, but solid in the dependability department. I played soccer and basketball from ages five to eighteen. Never won MVP, never had a stat worth printing, but I did snag the “Team Before Self” award in both sports by senior year. It was like the coaches’ polite way of saying, “You’re not that good, but we’re glad you stuck around.”
So you can imagine my surprise when I got…“reshuffled” off a team in one of my favorite college classes.
It wasn’t humiliating or dramatic. This class had a structured feedback system—after each project, everyone filled out anonymous evaluations to make sure team dynamics were working and that our individual grades were equitable. I actually found this to be the best group project system of my academic career. Based on the evaluations, teams would be reorganized. A few of us got reassigned, myself included.
At the time, I assumed the reshuffling was just part of the curriculum—something to expose us to different working styles. NBD. Then one day during office hours, while talking shop about real-world applications of our classwork, the professor casually asked how my new group was going… because the last one didn’t seem like the best fit for me.
Cue me, suddenly remembering that not all business and comp sci majors get along.
Looking back, I get it. I was a business major with sorority girl energy who offered to make the presentation and lead logistics. It wasn’t malicious—I just genuinely thought I had stronger presentation skills on the team, based on other business classes and internships. And I figured the comp sci students were more excited about modeling the data than designing the slide transitions. I didn’t realize those roles had wildly different perceived values.
To me, it made sense. I’d coordinate meeting times, book study rooms, and make sure our findings were communicated clearly so they could focus on what they enjoyed and were the best at. Program manager mode: activated. But to them? Maybe it looked like I was coasting. Volunteering for the “easy” stuff. And then being the one leading the group chats on top of that? Maybe a little much.
The wild part is—I thought they liked me. I thought we worked well together. So when I learned I didn’t get glowing feedback, I was surprised. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t personal. It was honest. I was just quietly, professionally…reassigned.
And honestly—fair enough. I probably could’ve communicated better. Could’ve explained why I thought the storytelling mattered. Could’ve acknowledged that while I was playing to my strengths, it wasn’t meant to minimize theirs.
What it taught me—and what I’ve been reminded of now in this coffee shop—is that even the “easy” tasks, the behind-the-scenes work, the quiet stuff…it all matters. It’s about communication. It’s about knowing the value in what you’re contributing, and making sure the people around you understand that value too. No matter the role.
So yes, college group projects are chaotic and awkward and occasionally scarring. But now, years later, I get why professors insist on them. Sometimes, the most important part of a project isn’t the grade—it’s learning how to work with people who don’t think, act, or see the world the same way you do.
Also, shoutout to anonymous feedback. Y’all kept it real. Respectfully.
All love. McC.