WIRTW #787: the 'accidents will happen' edition

"I think you just hit somebody."

That's what Mitch Goldstein said to me one cold morning in the winter of 1990. It was our senior year of high school, and I was driving us to school.

I had felt the bump.
"A car?" I asked.
"No," he said. "Some body."

He was right. My car had clipped a person—Delores Ritchie.

I was turning left from Audubon Ave. onto Tomlinson Rd. It was cold, and the windshield of my parents' powder-blue Subaru wagon was still partly iced over. Tomlinson runs east–west, and as I turned into the eastbound lane, the rising sun's glare blinded me just long enough.

Ms. Ritchie had the same problem. She had pulled over about a hundred feet past the intersection to scrape ice off her windshield. She was standing in the lane of traffic, on the driver's side of her car, when my passenger-side mirror clipped her.

I never saw her.

The police came. She left in an ambulance. Mitch and I went to school.

A few months later, as I left the public library next to George Washington High School, there she was—Delores Ritchie—standing at the circulation desk, chatting with the librarian.

I walked toward her to ask how she was doing, and then I heard this: "I was in an accident. A car clipped me and knocked me to the ground. I'm OK, but my lawyer wants me to keep going to doctors to run up my damages."

True story.

I slipped past her without being seen. I went home and told my dad what I'd heard. He told our lawyer.

The lawsuit disappeared.

Here's the lesson: if you're involved in litigation, watch your mouth. You never know who's listening—or when it will matter. Every offhand remark is potential evidence. Today's small talk can end your case tomorrow.

As for car accidents, that one was my first, but not my last. My daughter, Norah, away at college, was just in her first. To hear that story (and I promise it's just as good), listen to this week's episode of The Norah and Dad Show, available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, Overcast, Amazon Music, in 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.

If you can't force older employees to retire, how do you succession plan?

Employers face a legitimate—and growing—problem: if older employees aren't retiring on schedule (or at all), how do you plan for leadership transitions and future staffing needs without committing age discrimination?

The answer starts with recognizing that today's workforce doesn't retire the way it used to. Many employees expect to work past 65, often for financial reasons or because they want to stay active and engaged. Employers who build succession plans around outdated retirement assumptions are setting themselves up to fail.

What doesn't work (and is illegal) is pressure. You can't demote older employees, cut their pay, strip responsibilities, or make their jobs unpleasant in hopes they'll "choose" to retire. That’s not workforce planning—it's an age discrimination constructive discharge claim waiting to happen.

So, what does work?

Mangement discussion of an older worker's "retirement" as age discrimination

"When are you retiring?" That's not an employer's call to make.

Here's a rule that employers still manage to forget or ignore: the decision about when to retire belongs to the employee. Start nudging. Start hinting. Start asking. Start factoring it into employment decisions. And you're flirting with, if not outright committing, age discrimination.

An Ohio appellate court recently reinforced that lesson in Selzer v. Union Home Mortgage, reversing summary judgment for the employer and sending an age discrimination case back for trial.

Greg Selzer was a 64-year-old loan officer assistant. According to the record, his supervisors repeatedly pressed him about his retirement plans. Then came the email that mattered most: a vice president involved in the termination decision wrote that Selzer "keeps saying he will retire but hasn't." Another executive admitted that the purpose of that email was to justify why Selzer landed on the reduction-in-force list. And another employee confirmed that Selzer's proximity to retirement factored into the decision to terminate him.

The trial court bought the RIF explanation and dismissed the case. The court of appeals did not.

A plaintiff can prove age discrimination claims by direct or indirect evidence of discriminatory intent. In this case, the appellate court made clear that repeated inquiries about retirement when made by decision makers and tied to a termination decision qualify as direct evidence.

Yes, courts have said that merely using the word "retire" isn’t automatically discriminatory. But context matters. Here, the comments were frequent, made by supervisors, closely tied to the discharge, and—most damning—used as a justification for termination.

The employer argued it was just planning ahead. And believe me, I get it. When an employee eventually does retire, without proper succession planning, you could be caught off guard, scrambling to replace institutional knowledge and forced into a rushed and risky replacement decision. Courts, however, remain skeptical, and often recognize that "longevity" is just a proxy for age. Changing the label doesn't change the motive.

The takeaway for employers is simple:

Don't ask when employees plan to retire.
Don't speculate internally about retirement timelines.
And don't document retirement assumptions in RIF decisions.

Let employees retire when they choose. Support them in that decision. (I offer some tips on how to do that here.) Employees decide their retirement date. Employers don't get to decide for them—and those that try may find themselves staring down the barrel of an age discrimination lawsuit.

Can you spot the difference between coincidence and retaliation?

Have you heard about the small toy store owners in St. Paul, MN, who complained about ICE on their local news. They went on camera. They criticized ICE. Loudly. Publicly. Three hours later, two plainclothes ICE agents reportedly walked into the store and served a Notice of Inspection—an I-9 audit request.

And we're supposed to believe that timing is just… coincidence?

This is what retaliation looks like.

Clarity beats chaos: Why rescinding the EEOC’s harassment guidance is a mistake

Today at 10 a.m., the EEOC is scheduled to vote on whether to rescind its 2024 Enforcement Guidance on Harassment in the Workplace. 

If the Commission votes "yes," it will be a terrible result for employers — not because the Guidance was perfect, but because clarity beats chaos every time.

Dry January isn't a moral virtue or wellness trend. It's an economic gut punch.

Every January, like clockwork, Dry January comes roaring back.

If you want to take a month off drinking, good for you. Truly. Your body, your goals, your choice. No judgment, and it shouldn't be anyone else's business either.

But we also need to stop pretending Dry January is harmless.

For a whole lot of craft breweries, Dry January isn't a "challenge." It's a revenue problem. A jobs problem. A "can we make payroll in February" problem.

The 1st nominee for The Worst Employer of 2026 is … The Harassing, Retaliating, Evidence-Erasing Employer.

If you're looking for the blueprint for how to turn a workplace into a legal catastrophe and land on my Worst Employer list, look no further than Bryant v. C&M Defense Group. A jury just awarded Makita Bryant $5.5 million after what reads less like an HR failure and more like a master class in how to do everything wrong.