WIRTW #794: the 'philanthropy' edition

On this week's episode of the Norah and Dad Show, we talked about what Delta Zeta has come to mean to her, and I couldn’t help but smile listening to her. Greek life was never my thing, but I'm genuinely glad it's hers. She’s found her people—and not just a social circle, but a group that aligns with who she is. That includes their focus on speech and hearing advocacy, which fits her empathy and curiosity (and maybe even career goals) to a tee. It's one thing to join an organization; it's another to find one that sharpens your perspective and pushes you to care more deeply about issues that matter. This one does both for her, and it shows.

Norah and I covered a range of other topics, including food poisoning, a preview of her upcoming trip to New York City, travel horror stories (including Times Square on New Year's Eve and a very questionable museum couch), and speed traps. You can listen via Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, Amazon Music, Overcast, your browser, and everywhere else you get your podcasts. 

(If you are inclined to make a donation to DZ's philanthropy, you can do so here.)

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Here's what I read this week that you should read, too.

Mental Health Is Now a Retention Problem. For Some Employers, It's Also a Legal One.

One in four employees have considered quitting because of their mental health.

Let that sink in.

Not compensation. Not commute. Not a bad boss. Mental health.

The latest NAMI-Ipsos Workplace Mental Health poll paints a pretty stark picture: employees are stressed, overwhelmed, and—critically—don't feel safe talking about it at work. Nearly half fear judgment. Even fewer trust HR or leadership with these conversations.

That's not just a culture problem. It's a retention problem. And, increasingly, a legal one.

Employers can no longer count on private arbitration when sexual harassment is on the docket

Employers love arbitration agreements. They keep disputes private and out of court.

Unless, that is, sexual harassment is in the case.

An Ohio appellate court just made that crystal clear in Hansbrough v. Marshall Dennehey.

The Supreme Court lowered the bar. Employers should take notice.

Last year, in Muldrow v. City of St. Louis, SCOTUS rewrote what counts as an "adverse employment action" under Title VII. The old rule required something "materially" adverse—real harm. That's gone. Now, if an employee is left even a little worse off in the terms or conditions of employment, that's enough.

That's a big deal. It opens the door to challenges over everyday workplace decisions that courts used to dismiss as trivial.

But here's the nuance: the bar is lower—not nonexistent.

Enter Walsh v. HNTB Corp.

The 3rd nominee for the Worst Employer of 2026 is … The Dead Baby

Some cases hit harder than others. This is one of them.

A Hamilton County, Ohio, jury just tagged Total Quality Logistics with a $22.5 million verdict. The reason? It refused to let a pregnant employee work from home—despite two doctors' orders—and her baby died as a result.

Let that sink in.

Employers can't outsource discrimination to an algorithm

AI is new and shiny. Employment law is not.

Mobley v. Workday proves the point. The court concluded that employers don't get to outsource liability just because they've outsourced the tool to an AI vendor.

The plaintiffs, a nationwide class of job applicants over the age of 40, allege that employers' use of Workday’s AI-driven screening tools discriminates on the basis of age. Whether those claims ultimately stick is a question for another day. But the legal framework governing them is old, settled, and very familiar. Discrimination is discrimination—whether it's carried out by a hiring manager, a spreadsheet, or an outsourced algorithm.

WIRTW #793: the 'Waterloo Sunset' edition

Last Friday in Covent Garden, a street performer pulled me into his act.

"Where are you from?"
"America."

The boos came right on cue. Not playful. Not ironic. Real boos. Not from everyone—but from enough to feel it.

And yes, I knew they were coming. Anyone paying attention to how the world currently sees the U.S. knows. Still, hearing it live hits differently. It stings. Because I hate being cast as the villain—especially when I oppose with every fiber of my being everything that America has become since January 20, 2025.

But in that moment, none of that mattered. I wasn't me. I was "America."

That's the point.

The rest of the world isn't parsing our politics the way we do. They're not distinguishing between voters and non-voters, between MAGA and anti-MAGA. They see the country. Full stop.

The passport does the talking—and right now, it's not saying anything flattering.

To be clear, that moment wasn't my overall experience. Over six days in London, everyone we met was warm, welcoming, and eager to talk. And when the conversation turned to U.S. politics, the reaction was universal: They hate Trump. Not politely. Not abstractly. Viscerally.

But here's the uncomfortable truth: even when people separate you from the politics in conversation, the reputation still sticks at a distance. Countries are judged by what their governments do. Period.

And when a nation elects leaders who attack democratic norms, cozy up to authoritarians, alienate allies, and uproot the world order without thought or care for the global consequences, the world doesn't carve out exceptions for those who voted the other way.

They just see the country. Which means we carry it—all of us.

That's frustrating. It's unfair. It's also reality.

For a long time, Americans treated politics as a domestic sport. Something that affected us internally. Not anymore. The damage is global. And it shows up in small, uncomfortable moments—like a crowd booing when you say where you're from.

That moment wasn't about me. It couldn't have been. They didn't know me. All they knew was that I'm American—and that alone was enough, because their reaction was about what "America" currently represents.

Reputations aren't permanent. They're earned. They can be lost. And, with hard work, they can be regained. If we don't like how the world sees us right now, there's only one way to change it. We don't get to shrug it off. We don't get to pretend it's not our problem. It is our problem. And it's time we started fixing it.

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To hear a full recap of our Spring Break (or Spreak, as my daughter calls it) adventure in London, tune into this week's episode of The Norah and Dad Show, available via Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, Amazon Music, Overcast, your browser, and everywhere else you get your podcasts.

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Here's what I read this week that you should read, too.