As I advanced my skill sets, the job and the title had a far better match-up than when I was hired on as someone's "administrative assistant", even if the unpaid hours and a few wrangles over compensated time off did escalate later on.
I remember once finally noting in exasperation to the IT group senior VP that if I supported remote constructions of beta sites for LA working late and NY starting early, then I was likely to have a whole three hours in which to sleep and attend to a life of my own. I chose 10am on a Thursday for that complaint -- after he'd waked me at 2am to ask me to build something by 6 for a guy in NY. I had only downed tools at midnight NY time, working for LA.
Even in tech work though and when I was not telecommuting, there were often some assumptions made about actual jobs v job titles in common areas like the remote printer room, photocopy room and the employee's pantry... in the latter space on a lot of job sites there was fairly often a sign that ran to "Clean up after yourself, I am not your mother."
It never said "...your father"... so I figured some other female employee eventually tired of sweeping up crumbs and spilt sugar or making the fresh pot of coffee instead of picking up the one with two-hour-old dregs, sighing, and walking back out.
Once in a great while after I'd trained myself to ignore the state of the pantry, I too would pivot and depart the room without coffee on spotting the dread overheated dregs situation. But usually my caffeine jones would win out and I'd do the honors.
Still I would not clean the countertops. After all I came from a proud family of mostly boys I'd had to learn to boss around regarding cleaning up after themselves, so I wasn't having it at work either. At work I figured it wasn't even my job to chide the pantry abusers: a paycheck and a job description made me arrogant in a hurry.
The executive assistant to the guy in the corner office periodically made a fresh copy of the "Clean up!" sign with new and interesting decorations on it, eye-grabbing colors, something that reminded us anew there was no maid service in that pantry. She was sorta "our mother" but only in the sense of handing out chores once again when it became clear we had all reverted to shrugging and figuring someone else started the mess...