Listen, I’ve been doing HR for twelve years now, and I thought I’d seen it all. I’ve mediated disputes over stolen lunches, navigated passive-aggressive email chains that could fill a novel, and once had to explain to a senior director why he couldn’t require his team to attend his improv shows. But nothing prepared me for the Great Astrological Incompatibility Crisis of 2024.

It started on a Tuesday; because of course it did. Tuesdays are the true harbingers of workplace chaos, not Mondays. Mondays, everyone’s still recovering from the weekend. But Tuesdays? That’s when people have had just enough coffee to remember what’s bothering them.

Derek shuffled into my office at precisely 10:47 AM, wearing what I can only describe as the facial expression of a man who has looked into the void and found it wearing a lanyard. He was one month into his shiny new Team Manager position at Octopath Technologies, and already the shine had dulled to a sort of panicked matte finish.

“Shannon,” he said, collapsing into the chair across from my desk with the theatrical despair of a Victorian heroine, “I need help.”

I looked up from my email, where I’d been crafting a delicately worded response about why the breakroom microwave was not, in fact, a company conspiracy. “Well, hello to you too, Derek. Coffee?”

“I’ve had four cups already.” Derek stated.

“Ah. So, we’re at that stage.” I closed my laptop and gave him my full attention, which is HR-speak for ‘Tell me everything so I can figure out how much paperwork this is going to generate’.

Derek launched into his tale of woe with the practiced exhaustion of someone who had been rehearsing this conversation in his head for weeks. The problem, as he described it, was Desiree Smith—three-year veteran of the Technical Solutions team, repository of all institutional knowledge, and apparently, his own personal Moby Dick.

“She corrects me in meetings,” Derek said, ticking items off on his fingers. “She sighs when I give directions. Yesterday, she literally said ‘Well, that’s one approach’ when I assigned a project, and then told the team how she would do it instead.”

I nodded, scribbling notes. Classic knowledge-worker power struggle, seasoned with a dash of new-manager hazing. Tale as old as time, or at least as old as organizational hierarchies.

“And the team?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Split. Half of them are looking to me for direction because, you know, I’m their manager. The other half are basically treating Desiree like their shadow boss. It’s like I’m running a very polite civil war where everyone still says ‘good morning’ in the breakroom.”

I appreciated the metaphor. Derek had potential.

“Here’s the thing,” he continued, leaning forward with an intensity that made me wonder if maybe he should cut back to three cups of coffee. “I know I’m new. I know she has more technical experience. But I was promoted for a reason, and I can’t do my job if she’s undermining me at every turn.”

Valid. Frustrating. And exactly the kind of thing that could fester into a full-blown team dysfunction if left unaddressed. Time for me, Shannon the HR Business Partner, to work her magic, which mostly consists of asking uncomfortable questions until everyone agrees to behave like adults.

“Alright,” I said, employing my Most Reasonable Voice. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to ask Desiree to join us, and we’re going to have a conversation about expectations, roles, and how to work together effectively.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Like, right now?”

“Why wait? The wound is fresh, emotions are high, and I’ve already blocked off this time on my calendar.” I was lying about that last part, but conviction sells.

Ten minutes later, Desiree arrived, looking exactly as I’d pictured her: impeccably put together, carrying a notebook (of course), and radiating an aura of barely contained competence that could cut glass. She took the seat next to Derek with the careful neutrality of someone entering a hostage negotiation.

“Desiree, thanks for joining us,” I began, deploying my trademark blend of warmth and professional detachment. “Derek came to me with some concerns about team dynamics, and I thought it would be productive for us to talk through them together.”

I watched Desiree’s face, which remained admirably composed except for the tiniest flicker of her left eye. Was it annoyance? Vindication? An eyelash? The mysteries of human micro expressions.

“I’m happy to discuss any concerns,” she said, which is corporate-speak for this should be interesting.

Derek, bless him, dove right in. “Desiree, I value your experience and knowledge. I really do. But I feel like you’re questioning my decisions in front of the team, and it’s making it difficult for me to lead effectively.”

Desiree nodded slowly, as if processing this information through some internal algorithm. Then she turned to me, completely bypassing Derek, which was already not a great sign.

“Shannon, can I be honest?” Desiree spoke.

“Please.” I live for honesty. It makes my job so much easier when people say the quiet part out loud.

“I don’t think Derek is a good manager for me,” Desiree said, with the calm certainty of someone stating a universal truth, “because he’s a Scorpio, and I’m a Libra.”

Time stopped.

Somewhere in the building, a printer jammed. A phone rang unanswered. The HVAC system wheezed its eternal wheeze. But in my office, there was only silence. The kind of profound, crystalline silence that follows truly spectacular statements.

I blinked. Derek blinked. Desiree did not blink, because she was apparently completely serious.

“I’m sorry,” I said, in the tone of someone who has just been told that the Earth is, in fact, a rhombus, “could you elaborate on that?”

Desiree pulled out her phone, of course she had citations ready, and began scrolling with the confidence of someone presenting irrefutable scientific evidence. “Scorpios are very intense and controlling. They need to be in charge. Libras need harmony and balance. We’re fundamentally incompatible in a hierarchical relationship. It’s basic astrology.”

I looked at Derek, who was staring at Desiree like she’d just started speaking in tongues. “I… I don’t even know what a Scorpio is,” he said weakly. “I mean, beyond the scorpion thing.”

“November ninth,” Desiree said, apparently having looked this up. “Classic Scorpio energy.”

“I was born on November ninth, yes,” Derek confirmed, looking at me desperately, clearly wondering if he’d accidentally walked into some alternate dimension where star positions determined management compatibility.

Oh, this was delicious. This was peak HR absurdity. This was the kind of story I’d be telling at conferences for years.

I took a deep breath, centering myself in that special place HR professionals go when reality becomes optional. “Desiree, I appreciate you sharing your perspective. Let me ask you this: setting aside astrological considerations for a moment, can you give me specific examples of where you and Derek have had professional disagreements?”

She thought about this, which I appreciated. “The Nakamura project. He wanted to use the old framework, but I knew the new one would be more efficient.”

“And were you right?” asked Shannon.

“Yes.” Desiree exclaimed.

“And how did you communicate that to him?”

A pause. The tiniest crack in the certainty. “I might have mentioned it in the team meeting. And then demonstrated the new framework approach when he wasn’t looking.”

“So, you undermined his decision and showed the team an alternative approach without discussing it with him first?”

“I was helping.” But she said it with less conviction now.

I turned to Derek. “And Derek, when Desiree raised concerns about the framework, what was your response?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I told her we’d stick with what I decided because I’m the manager and we needed to move forward.”

“Did you ask why she preferred the new framework?”

“Well… no.” Derek stated.

Beautiful. Textbook case of poor communication dressed up in cosmic clothing. I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers in the universal gesture of someone about to say something wise, or at least semi-coherent.

“Here’s the thing,” I said. “Desiree, I respect that astrology is meaningful to you. Truly. But here’s the reality: Derek’s zodiac sign is something he cannot change. It’s literally determined by his birthday, which happened thirty-some years ago without his input. So, we need to find a way for you two to work together that doesn’t depend on planetary alignments.”

Desiree opened her mouth, then closed it.

“Moreover,” I continued, warming to my theme, “even if astrological compatibility were a factor we could consider, which, for legal and practical reasons, we absolutely cannot, it wouldn’t change the fundamental dynamic here. You both have valuable things to contribute. Derek has leadership responsibility and a broader organizational view. You have deep technical knowledge and experience. The question is: how do you combine those strengths instead of treating them as competition?”

Derek was nodding. Desiree was at least listening, which was more than I’d expected five minutes into the Zodiac Defense.

“Let me propose something,” I said. “Derek, what if you and Desiree established a regular check-in, maybe weekly, where she can brief you on technical considerations and you can share strategic direction? A space where you can have these discussions privately before decisions go to the team?”

“I’d be open to that,” Derek said quickly.

Desiree hesitated. “What about when I disagree with a decision?”

“Then you advocate your position privately,” I said. “You give Derek your best professional opinion and the reasons behind it. If he still chooses a different path, you support that decision publicly and trust that he’s weighing factors you might not be privy to. That’s what being part of a team means.”

“Even if I’m right?” Desiree added.

“Even if you’re right. Because here’s the hard truth, Desiree, being right isn’t always enough. You can be one hundred percent correct and still damage team cohesion if you undermine your manager’s authority. And damaged team cohesion hurts everyone, including you.”

I watched the landing stick. Desiree was smart, that much was clear. Smart enough to know that I wasn’t wrong, even if she didn’t love hearing it.

“Look,” I said, softening my tone slightly, “I’ve read your performance reviews. You’re brilliant at what you do. Derek’s evaluations show strong leadership potential. Neither of those things are in question. What we need to figure out is how to channel both of those strengths productively instead of letting them cancel each other out.”

Derek nodded enthusiastically. Desiree’s expression had shifted from defensive to thoughtful, which I counted as progress.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Derek said, and I gestured for him to continue. “What if we try Shannon’s check-in idea, but also… what if I made it clear to the team that when technical questions come up, Desiree is the subject matter expert? Like, formally acknowledge that she’s the go-to person for that knowledge?”

Oh, clever boy. I made a mental note to mark his leadership development positively.

Desiree’s posture changed almost imperceptibly. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. You are the expert. I’m not trying to pretend otherwise. I just need to be able to make final decisions about project direction without feeling like I’m in a cage match.”

“I haven’t been that bad,” Desiree protested, but there was almost a smile there.

“You’ve been pretty bad,” Derek said, and this time there was a smile. “Like, respectfully, you’ve been very bad.”

“Okay, maybe a little bad.” Desiree added with a tinge of guilt.

I felt the energy in the room shift, that magical moment when people stop defending their positions and start actually talking to each other. This was the good stuff. This was why, despite everything, I love this job.

“So, here’s what I’m hearing,” I said, pulling out my notes. “Weekly check-ins, where you two can discuss technical approaches and strategic direction. Derek formally recognizes Desiree as the technical expert. Desiree commits to supporting Derek’s final decisions publicly, even when she disagrees. Does that cover it?”

They both nodded.

“Great. Let’s reconvene in a month and see how it’s going.” I stood, signaling the end of our session. “And Desiree? For what it’s worth, I’m a Gemini, and I somehow manage to work with all twelve signs on a daily basis. It’s possible.”

She laughed, actually laughed. “Point taken, Shannon.”

After they left, I sat back down at my desk and stared at my notes. Incompatible due to astrological signs, I’d written. Below it: Resolved through communication and role clarity.

Sometimes my job is absurd. Sometimes it is frustrating. But sometimes, just sometimes, it is watching two smart people realize they’d been fighting about symbols instead of talking about substance, and then choosing to do better.

I opened my email to document the conversation for the file. Subject line: “Meeting Notes: Derek Jones and Desiree Smith, Re: Team Dynamics.” I paused, fingers over the keyboard, then added a personal note at the bottom that would never make it into the official record: Mercury must be in retrograde.

Three weeks later, Derek stopped by my office with an update. The check-ins were working. Desiree had stopped publicly second-guessing him. The team was functioning more smoothly. He looked like he’d slept in the past week, which was a dramatic improvement.

“I still don’t know anything about astrology,” he admitted.

“Probably for the best,” I said. “How’s Desiree doing?”

“Good, actually. She taught me more about our technical processes in three one-on-one meetings than I learned in my entire first month. And I think she appreciates being recognized as the expert.”

“Turns out people just want to feel valued. Shocking, I know.” I added.

Derek grinned. “Thanks, Shannon. For, you know, not laughing at the whole zodiac thing.”

“Oh, I laughed,” I assured him. “Just not where you could see me.”

After he left, I updated my running list of “Weird Reasons Employees Argue,” which I keep for my own amusement. The list now included:

• Stolen lunch (ongoing)
• Passive-aggressive email signatures
• Astrological incompatibility
• Someone whistling the Jeopardy theme

Twelve years in HR, and the stories just kept getting stranger. Somewhere in the cosmos, the stars aligned. And down here at Octopath Technologies, two employees learned to work together despite their zodiac signs, which was about as close to a miracle as I was likely to get on a Tuesday.

I went back to my emails, already wondering what Wednesday would bring.