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.

Lawsuits aren't lottery tickets. Or at least they shouldn't be.

Too often, plaintiffs' lawyers file thin, borderline frivolous employment claims hoping for a quick nuisance-value settlement. The math is simple: it's cheaper for an employer to pay a few thousand dollars to make a case disappear than to spend tens (or hundreds) of thousands defending it.

And yes, sometimes that works. The business case often just makes sense for businesses.

But not always. Plenty of employers—especially those who believe they've done nothing wrong—will dig in and fight. Hard.

That's where the real disservice to the employee begins.

5 steps for an employer to win an off-the-clock overtime claim

Jerry Merritt, an agency manager for the Texas Farm Bureau, claimed 816 hours of unpaid overtime. Even assuming he had been misclassified as an independent contractor, he still lost.

Here's why.

Bribery scandals don't start with bad employees; they start with bad culture

When a bribery scandal hits a company, the corporate response is almost always the same: These were bad employees acting on their own.

Maybe. But usually not.

Consider the current mess involving Southern Glazer's Wine & Spirits, the largest alcohol distributor in the United States. 

WIRTW #792: the 'CBC' edition

Happy staff brew better beer.

It's obvious when you think about it.

A team that feels respected, valued, and heard shows up differently. They care more. They collaborate better. They solve problems faster. And yes—the beer, the taproom experience, and the business all benefit.

Yet for an industry built on passion, craft, and community, too many breweries still struggle with workplace culture.

Long hours. Thin margins. High stress. High turnover.

It's easy to focus all your energy on recipes, distribution, and survival while overlooking the single most important ingredient in your brewery: your people.

And when that happens, the consequences show up fast—burnout, disengagement, toxic dynamics, and constant turnover.

Replacing an employee isn’t cheap. Depending on the role, it can cost up to 50% of that employee's annual salary to recruit, hire, and train someone new. In breweries—where production and taproom roles already see high turnover—that cost adds up quickly.

But here's the good news: building a great workplace culture doesn't require a massive budget or a full-time HR department.

It requires intention.

That’s exactly what I'll be talking about at the Craft Brewers Conference this April in Philly.

Happy Staff, Better Craft: Brewing a Better Workplace
📅 Wednesday, April 22
⏰ 10:15–11:15 AM
📍 Room 201-AB

In this session, we'll dig into the connection between employee engagement and brewery success—and why culture isn't just a feel-good concept, but a real business strategy.

We’ll talk about:

• Why happy employees make better beer (and better customer experiences)
• How better communication can prevent most workplace conflicts before they start
• Simple, low-cost ways to recognize and reward your team
• How to design brewing and taproom jobs people actually want to stay in
• What leadership looks like when you lead like a worker instead of a boss

My goal isn't theory. It's practical tools.

The brewing industry is full of passionate people who love what they do. But passion alone isn't a workplace strategy. If breweries want to thrive long term, they have to invest in the people who make the beer, pour the pints, and represent the brand every day.

Great breweries don't just brew great beer.

They build great workplaces.

If you're heading to CBC this year, come join me. I'd love to see you there—and talk about how happier teams can help build stronger breweries.

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

A dollar saved, a tip credit destroyed

Sometimes a case turns on complex legal questions or convoluted fact patterns. Other times it turns on something far simpler—like a single dollar.

 
In Dugan v. Reservoir Restaurant Inc., a $1 deduction just cost a restaurant its entire tip credit. A federal court handed the plaintiffs (a class of servers) a summary judgment win because their employer deducted $1 per shift from their tips to cover items like silverware, pens, and similar supplies.

Here's the setup. The restaurant paid its servers the tipped minimum wage of $2.13 per hour, relying on the FLSA's tip credit to bridge the gap to the $7.25 federal minimum wage. But every shift, the restaurant also took $1 directly from the servers' tips to reimburse the business for operating supplies.

That's where things went sideways.

There are no “quick favors” in wage-and-hour law

"Can you just help with this for a minute?"

That's how off-the-clock cases start.

Not with an intent to steal wages, but with an innocent call for help.

In Arnold v. Marriott, a hotel employee alleges that during busy holiday seasons he and others were directed to help with conference and event setups while not clocked in — including during lunch. Supervisors allegedly observed pre-shift work and didn't ensure it was recorded. On one occasion, when he asked whether he'd be paid for responding to work texts during lunch, he was told yes — but claims he wasn't. He also alleges he raised concerns with management and nothing changed.

Litigation is a strategy, not a reflex

When an employee walks out the door holding your company's stuff hostage, you have two problems: (1) your property, and (2) the story you're creating for the inevitable lawsuit.

Rezene v. Haribo is a case study in how fast this can go sideways. The employee allegedly kept a company Mercedes, phone, laptop, and other items while severance talks dragged on. The employer's lawyers got involved to retrieve the property. After multiple written demands, they contacted police. Officers showed up at the employee's home. Cue the next act: claims for defamation, emotional distress, discrimination, and retalation.

Years of federal litigation followed. Haribo ultimately won. Some claims died on summary judgment. The rest died at trial. But that's not the point.

The EEOC can't repeal Bostock, but it's sure trying

The EEOC just voted 2–1 to hold that federal agencies may restrict bathrooms and other "intimate spaces" based on biological sex — and may exclude transgender employees from facilities consistent with their gender identity.

"Biology is not bigotry," says EEOC Chair Andrea Lucas.

Except according to the Supreme Court, it very much is.

WIRTW #791: the 'awkward' edition

Have you ever seen a celebrity—someone whose work you genuinely love—and completely blown your shot at being normal?

Yeah. Same. It just happened to me.

My daughter and I were on our way to the House of Blues to see Descendents, Frank Turner & The Sleeping Souls, and Nobro. Here's a little secret: Frank Turner is low-key in my top three musicians at this moment in my life.

We parked the car and walked across East Fourth Street toward the venue for a pre-show dinner.

Then I glanced left.

And there he was. Frank Turner himself. Walking down the other side of the street like a regular human being, probably thinking about dinner. Maybe Valentine's Day. Maybe his performance in a few hours. Definitely not thinking about me.

My brain had about half a second to process all of this before my mouth took over.

"WOOO, FRANK TURNER!!!"

Not conversational. Not cool. Not subtle.

Full-volume sidewalk scream.

People stopped. Heads turned. I'm fairly certain a nearby couple thought I was alerting them to an emergency.

Frank's response? Barely a quarter nod. Not a smile. Not a wave. A fractional acknowledgment suggesting, "Yes, I hear you, loud fan," before continuing on his way.

Undeterred—because apparently I hadn't embarrassed myself and my daughter enough—I yelled after him, "We'll see you inside, Frank!"

Friends, he did not turn around.

In my head, this moment was supposed to unfold differently. He laughs. We chat. We discover mutual interests. We exchange numbers. We become besties. I casually mention him in conversation. "Oh yeah, Frank and I were texting…"

Instead, I yelled a man's name across a downtown street while he was out on a Valentine's Day pre-show stroll with his girlfriend.

Jon, not cool. But a story to tell, nonetheless.

To hear the rest of the story about our entire concert experience, check out 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.

A lesson on retaliation from the State of the Union

A lawmaker sits silently during a high-profile speech. He holds up a simple sign protesting a racially offensive depiction of a former president by the current president. No shouting. No profanity. Just a message: this is wrong.

Within minutes, he's escorted out.

Now take off the Capitol dome and put that scene in your workplace.

Culture is what you tolerate

We tell ourselves a comforting lie about bad behavior around sports.

It's just passion.
Just rivalry.
Just trash talk.

Until it's racism.
Until it's misogyny.
Until it's culture.

Two recent soccer incidents make this point.

A wiener of a lawsuit

A bun propped itself atop the deli counter and declared itself lunch. It was golden. Perfectly split. Structurally sound. "Look at my form," it said. "I'm ready to be served." But there was no hot dog inside. All bun, no meat.

That's Mendoza v. Dietz & Watson.

Adela Mendoza, a production employee, sued after her termination, alleging sexual-orientation discrimination, retaliation, and hostile work environment. Dietz fired her for insubordination after she failed to follow a directive to move to a different production line when hers went down. She admitted she knew the rule: insubordination could mean discharge.

The employer's legitimate, nondiscriminatory reason doesn't have to be fancy. It just has to exist and be supported by the record. Here, it had weight. It had snap.

WIRTW #790: the 'protest' edition

Rock 'n' roll has a long history of protest music.

From Woody Guthrie's Tear the Fascists Down to Rage Against the Machine's Killing in the Name, musicians have been poking power in the eye for decades. It's loud. It's uncomfortable. That's the point.

Right now, the amps are pointed squarely at ICE.

Springsteen has drawn headlines. U2 just added its voice. When global superstars wade into immigration enforcement, reaction is guaranteed.

But if you want to understand the emotional core of this moment, don't start with the arena tours.

Start with Billy Bragg's City of Heroes.

This isn't subtle. It's not abstract.

It's a song about complicity.

Bragg opens with the ghost of Martin Niemöller—the pastor whose post-WWII confession about silence in the face of Nazi persecution still echoes.

"When they came for the communists..."
"When they came for the Democrats..."
"When they came for Jews..."

The point is familiar: silence feels safe—until it isn't.

Bragg brings that warning into the present tense, asking: What excuses would you tell yourself if this ever happened to you?

That's not policy debate. That's conscience.

Then it turns personal.

The refrain isn't passive. It's not "I posted." It's not "I tweeted."

It's: "I got in their face."

When they came for immigrants…
For refugees…
For five-year-olds…
To my neighborhood…
When they dragged people from their cars…
Took families from their homes…
Murdered our sister…
Murdered our brother…

…I got in their face.

Bragg ends with a vow: to bear witness to terror, to tyranny, to murder, to fascism.

This isn't about policy. It's about refusing to look away.

I created a playlist of protest songs. Some were written in the shadow of fascism in Europe. Some were born in the civil rights era. Some were recorded in the last news cycle.

Different decades. Different villains. Same instinct.

When artists believe government has crossed a line, they write. They record. They dare you to listen. And to do something.

You don't have to agree with every lyric. You don't have to like the politics. You may think some of it is overwrought.

That's fine.

But protest music tells you something about the cultural moment—what people fear, what they value, what they think is at stake.

What’s missing from my protest pantheon? Drop me an email and tell me what else belongs on the playlist.

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