HR

Thirty years in HR. That’s not a career—it’s a sentence. I’ve survived mergers, lawsuits, and the Great Passive-Aggressive Email Epidemic of 2011. I’ve seen things. Heard things. Mediated things that would make a therapist weep and a lawyer’s bill double. I’ve aged like a fine wine—if that wine had been left in a breakroom fridge next to someone’s forgotten tuna salad.

People think HR is about policies. Compliance. Benefits. No. HR is about people. And people, my friends, are—pardon my French—batshit crazy.

I’ve handled serious claims. Like the time someone sent a picture of his... enthusiasm to a coworker and tried to argue it was “artistic expression.” Picasso he was not.

I’ve mediated a dispute over who gets the “good chair.” Not a better chair. Just the one that doesn’t squeak like it’s haunted.

I’ve investigated whether someone’s motivational Post-it notes were “too judgmental.” They said things like “You got this!” and “Be the change!” Apparently, that was “hostile tone.”

One employee filed a harassment claim because her coworker said “Good morning” with too much eye contact. Another accused the office plant of “watching her.” I had to explain that Ficus trees don’t have motives. Yet.

And then there was the glitter incident. A full-blown investigation into whether an employee had weaponized glitter during a team-building exercise. Glitter. As a weapon. It was everywhere—on chairs, in keyboards, in someone’s soup. HR had to determine intent. Was it sabotage? Celebration? Or just a rogue craft enthusiast with boundary issues? I had to write up a formal report that included the phrase “glitter deployment strategy.” I wish I were joking.

But those weren’t even the worst days.

There was the young man who sent a seductive video to his 65-year-old, very straight boss. The boss’s response? “Why the hell would you send this to me?” A fair question. My response? A long sigh, followed by a longer report titled Inappropriate Multimedia Exchange and Generational Misalignment.

Then there was Miss Lisa. Her supervisor—young, polite, and tragically unaware—called her “Lisa.” She filed a formal complaint for disrespect. I asked gently, “Isn’t Lisa your name?” She replied, “I am Miss Lisa, and I will not take that kind of disrespect from my younger supervisor.” I had to write that up with a straight face. I deserve hazard pay.

And let us never forget the morning an employee sent photos of his excitement to his lover, then left them open on the business center computer. The one our guests use. I walked in, coffee in hand, ready to tackle PTO requests—and instead found myself staring at a very enthusiastic JPEG. That was not the kind of “team spirit” we encourage.

Every morning, I walk into my office like Katniss entering the arena. May the odds be ever in my favor. Will today bring a heartfelt thank-you note? Or a complaint that someone’s keyboard clicks “too aggressively”? Who knows. I’m the therapist, the lawyer, the referee, the human shield—and occasionally, the designated adult in a room full of toddlers with Wi-Fi.

And the racism? Oh, it’s not even subtle anymore. It’s bold. It’s loud. It’s as if someone has given ignorance a megaphone and a LinkedIn account.

DEI? That’s now considered a threat to the sacred tradition of mediocrity. “Why do we need diversity?” they ask, as if the answer isn’t “because your team looks like a mayonnaise convention.”

I’ve sat in meetings where someone said, “We don’t see color,” while rejecting every résumé with a name that didn’t rhyme with Chad. I’ve watched brilliant women be talked over by men who think “mentorship” means “man-splaining” her own idea back to her—slowly. Like she’s a toddler and he’s the Oracle of Delphi.

Don’t get me started on the wellness initiatives. We once had a “mandatory mindfulness workshop” scheduled during everyone’s lunch break. Nothing says inner peace like chewing a granola bar while being told to “breathe through your burnout.”

We had a “Gratitude Wall” once. Someone anonymously wrote, “I’m grateful I haven’t throat-punched anyone this week.” I left it up. It was the most honest thing on there.

But here’s the kicker: I still believe in people. Somewhere beneath the entitlement and the chaos, there’s a flicker of humanity. A moment of grace. A story worth hearing.

I’ve seen someone break down in my office, ashamed of their mistake—and I’ve watched them rise, rebuild, and become the kind of leader who listens.

I’ve seen a young woman speak up for the first time in a meeting, her voice shaking—and I’ve watched the room fall silent, not out of dismissal, but respect. I’ve seen apologies that mattered. I’ve seen change that stuck.

That’s why I stay. Not for the policies. Not for the spreadsheets. But for the chance—however rare—to help someone rise.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go mediate a dispute over “No Fish in the Office Microwave Ever.” Again. And yes, the glitter incident is still under review.

Stay tuned for more HR Hunger games. I promise you it never ends.