WIRTW #808 (the 'document, document, document' edition)

Earlier this week I appeared on a webinar hosted by SelectSoftware Reviews and sponsored by Insperity, on protecting your business through the employee lifecycle. We covered hiring, onboarding, performance management, and termination.

One theme kept surfacing, hour after hour, question after question.

Documentation.

By the end of the hour, it wasn't just a talking point. It was the takeaway.

If it's not written down, it didn't happen.

I don't mean that as a cute aphorism. I mean it as a description of how litigation actually works. Judges and juries don't care what you remember. They don't care what you meant to do, what you're sure you said, or what "everyone knew" about an employee's performance. They care about what you can show them.

Testimony is cheap. Anyone can take the stand and swear that Employee X was warned three times before termination. But without a written warning, a performance improvement plan, an email, text, or Slack message, a note in the file — something — that testimony is just a lawyer's client saying what a lawyer's client needs to say. Opposing counsel knows it. The jury knows it. And your credibility takes the hit.

This is Personnel File 101, but employers still get it wrong constantly:

• Managers give verbal counseling and never memorialize it.
• Performance issues live in a manager's head, not in a review.
• Terminations get built on a paper trail assembled after the decision, not before it.

That last one is its own special problem. Contemporaneous documentation, created in the ordinary course of business at or near the time of the event, is powerful evidence. Documentation manufactured after an EEOC charge lands or a lawsuit gets filed looks exactly like what it is — and plaintiffs' lawyers love pointing that out to a jury.

Employers, train your managers and supervisors to build the habit of writing it down when it happens, not when you need it. The write-up doesn't need to be a legal masterpiece. It just needs to exist.

Because in a courtroom, the absence of a document isn't neutral. It's evidence too — just not the kind you want.

You can watch the entire webinar here.

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

Why employers shouldn't mine employees' social media accounts

A federal judge just told Southwest Airlines what it can't look at on Facebook.

The court entered a permanent injunction barring Southwest from "proactively searching for, relying on, or using" Charlene Carter's religious statements — including her posts about abortion — in any future discipline, discharge, or other adverse action.

Here's the backstory. Southwest fired Carter after she sent her union president graphic anti-abortion images and video. She sued both Southwest and the union under Title VII for religious discrimination. In 2022, a jury awarded her $5 million (later reduced to $800,000), finding that employer and union discriminated and retaliated against her for her religious views. The 5th Circuit sent the trial court's injunction back down as overbroad. This is the judge's narrowed version.

This is why DEI matters

"Do not touch my new driver." That's the tagline from a misogynistic ad that Good Good Golf and Callaway Golf posted — and then, only after the backlash, deleted.

Someone pitched the idea of man shoving a woman to the ground and growling that line at her. Someone shot it and edited it. Someone approved it, scheduled it, and posted it to all of the company's channels. And not one person in that chain said, "Wait — this is wrong."

This was a company's male co-founder physically and abhorrently overpowering a female — knocking her to the ground on camera, then standing over her as she looked up at him and he delivered the line like a threat.

That's not a rogue mistake. That's a room with no one there to catch it and call it out.

When 'performance problems' are actually a disability

Brian Lee says his employer relabeled his ADHD symptoms as "performance deficiencies" and terminated him a result. The employer, Red Hat, says it was simply managing a struggling employee. A federal court is about to sort out who's right.

Lee, a senior software engineer, went to work for Red Hat because of its reputation as neurodivergent-friendly and inclusive. He disclosed his ADHD to his supervisor shortly after being hired in 2022. In October 2024, he received a written warning for collaboration, communication, and timeliness issues. He was later pulled off a major project. He also learned his "evolving performer" rating made him ineligible for a bonus he says he wasn't warned about.

He complained internally and to the EEOC. Red Hat investigated and found nothing. Then things got worse. In April 2025, the company granted some accommodations — dedicated focus time, remote work — but denied others, including extra time on tasks. In July, he was fired for not meeting the goals of his performance improvement plan.

Four claims followed in Lee's lawsuit: failure to accommodate, disability discrimination, retaliation, and wrongful discharge.

WIRTW #807 (the 'one cent' edition)

"After 9/15/26, The Columbia House will no longer be accepting new orders." So reads the banner atop the mail-order retailer's website.

Reaction no. 1: Columbia House still exists?!?!?! 😮

Reaction no. 2: Wow, that's really sad. 😢

If you're of a certain age (and I am most definitely that age), Columbia House was a rite of musical passage.

For the youngsters… Before Spotify. Before Apple Music. Before you could summon virtually any song ever recorded by tapping a piece of glass in your pocket, there was Columbia House.

And Columbia House had a deal for you.

Pick 8 CDs! Or 10! Or 12! And get them for a penny!

A PENNY! (And let's not forget that pennies don't even exist anymore.)

To a music-obsessed teenager, this seemed like the greatest bargain in the history of capitalism. (The fine print about buying additional albums at full club prices was Future You's problem.)

You'd painstakingly choose your albums, mail the order form, and wait. Then, one glorious afternoon, a cardboard box would arrive containing an instant music collection.

It was magical.

It was also a spectacular business. Columbia Records launched its record club in 1955. By the mid-1990s, Columbia House reportedly had 16 million members and generated as much as $1.4 billion in annual revenue.

Then the internet happened.
Downloading happened.
Streaming happened.

Columbia House ended its music club in 2009, but somehow survived as a niche online seller. On September 15, it will stop accepting new orders after more than 70 years.

There's an obvious business lesson here about technological disruption. But that's not why its closing makes me sad.

Columbia House belonged to an era when music required effort.

You saved money for an album. You went to a record store. You flipped through racks. You studied liner notes. You made mixtapes. You waited for your favorite song to come on the radio so you could record it.

Or you circled 12 tiny album covers on a Columbia House order form and checked the mailbox every afternoon for weeks.

Today, nearly the entire history of recorded music is available on my phone. I'm not going to pretend I'd rather go back to waiting six weeks for a box of CDs to show up in the mail.

But there was something undeniably fun about picking the albums, sending in the card, and waiting for that box to arrive. Then came the real challenge: remembering to send back the "no thanks" card before Columbia House picked your next albums for you.

So, yes, I'm amazed Columbia House was somehow still around in 2026. And I'm sad to see it go. Not because I need somewhere to buy CDs by mail, but because its demise reminds me that I'm old enough to wax nostalgic about a mail-order music club.

Rest in peace, Columbia House. You were the best penny I ever spent.

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

You are what you post

"I guess ... to a certain point, I've abused that freedom."

That's N.A. Poe, a Philadelphia sandwich shop owner, reflecting on the online persona he says just cost him a nearly seven-year business relationship with Human Robot Brewery.

For years, Poe has cultivated an internet presence designed to provoke - irreverent memes, offensive jokes, pot smoking, political commentary, and, in his words, "raging against the machine." He says he's just trying to entertain himself and "tickle the algorithm."

Then came a particularly crude meme involving another Philadelphia bar owner, an Irishman, and a potato.

Poe says it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Human Robot ended the relationship.

Yes, it's your laptop. No, you shouldn't necessarily sue to get it back.

Your former employee sues you for discrimination and retaliation.

You respond by … suing her over a laptop.

That's the latest wrinkle in the employment lawsuit between former Fox 2 Detroit anchor Taryn Asher and WJBK-TV. Asher alleges sex discrimination and retaliation. The station denies those allegations and says it terminated her because of unprofessional workplace behavior.

But tucked into the station's response is something else: a counterclaim seeking the return of a company laptop that Asher allegedly kept after her employment ended.

According to the station, it repeatedly asked for the laptop, even sending Asher a prepaid shipping label and box. According to Asher's lawyer, she kept it because it contains information relevant to her lawsuit, and her attorneys tried to negotiate a protocol for returning it while protecting privileged and other information.

I'm not taking sides on who is right about this particular laptop. But the dispute raises an important question for any employer defending an employment lawsuit:

Just because you can countersue a former employee over unreturned company property, does that mean you should?