🎶 I get knocked down, but I get up again… 🎶

Like just about everyone else of a certain age, I know every word to Tubthumping. It's one of those songs that still somehow finds its way into bars, sporting events, wedding receptions, and random playlists nearly 30 years later.

And because of that, I always assumed Chumbawamba was exactly what it appeared to be: a one-hit wonder with one incredibly catchy song.

I was wrong. Very wrong.

The other night, after Tubthumping came on while we were driving home from dinner, I asked Siri to play more Chumbawamba.

I was completely unprepared for what came next.

Why did no one ever tell me that Chumbawamba is actually a really good band?

I expected a few more songs that sounded like Tubthumping. Instead, I got a musical identity crisis—in the best possible way.

Punk? Yes.
Techno? Yes.
New wave? Yes.
Folk? Yes.
Choral music? Somehow… yes.

Their catalog lurches from one genre to another with complete confidence, and yet it all somehow works. It's chaotic, unpredictable, and more creative than I ever would have guessed from the band that gave us one of the biggest singalong anthems of the 1990s.

Then I did what we all do after discovering something unexpected: I went to Wikipedia.

Turns out Chumbawamba spent decades as an anarchist collective, releasing fiercely political albums long before Tubthumping accidentally made them international stars. They never really seemed interested in becoming famous, and after cashing the checks from their one massive hit, they largely went back to making exactly the music they wanted to make.

Honestly, that explains a lot. Tubthumping wasn't the beginning or the end of the story. It was just the one song that happened to break through.

Sometimes the internet gets it wrong.
Sometimes radio gets it wrong.
Sometimes we get it wrong.

Sometimes a band you dismissed as a one-hit wonder has an entire catalog that's smarter, stranger, and far more interesting than the one song everyone remembers.

I think there's a workplace lesson buried in all of this. We all have a tendency to reduce people to a single data point—the one presentation, the one mistake, the one success, the one reputation. But people are almost always more complicated than that.

The best managers stay curious long after everyone else has stopped paying attention.

So, employers, stay curious. You never know what you might discover when you look beyond the one thing everyone else remembers.These disabled workers lost their jobs. They say AI targeted them — via USA Today

A white man gets fired. His employer has a DEI program. Therefore, the DEI program caused his termination.

That argument has become increasingly common in employment discrimination cases. It's also usually not enough.

But Chavers v. WestRock Services shows what happens when a plaintiff brings more than complaints about corporate diversity goals.

The facts in Sharpe-Miller v. Walmart read less like a judicial opinion and more like an HR nightmare.

An assistant store manager allegedly told a gay employee, "Good—if homosexuals got any more rights, then we might as well legalize pedophilia and bestiality."

Coworkers regularly called him "f****ft," "butt pirate," and "Jerry the fairy." They mocked his walk, joked that he was "afraid to break a nail," made limp-wrist gestures whenever he passed, and one even called him a "pedophile."

Then someone drew a picture on the breakroom whiteboard with "F***T" scrawled across the figure's forehead.

When the employee reported it, his supervisor's response was to erase the drawing and say, "Boys will be boys."

The district court nevertheless dismissed his hostile work environment claim on summary judgment.

Earlier this week, the 10th Circuit reversed.

The opinion is worth reading because it corrects several common misconceptions about hostile work environment law. Most importantly, the court rejected the notion that harassment must amount to a "steady barrage" of discriminatory comments before it becomes actionable. That phrase has appeared in prior cases, but, as the 10th Circuit explained, it is descriptive—not a legal requirement. The governing standard remains the Supreme Court's familiar rule: harassment is unlawful if it is severe or pervasive enough to alter the terms and conditions of employment.

Those two words matter, and mean exactly what they say.

An employee doesn't need to endure daily abuse if a handful of incidents are sufficiently severe. Comparing homosexuality to pedophilia. Calling a gay employee a pedophile. Writing a slur across a drawing in a workplace breakroom. A reasonable jury could conclude that conduct crosses the line even if it wasn't constant.

The opinion also corrects several evidentiary mistakes that employers and lawyers sometimes make.

The district court dismissed comments about the employee's "cat walk," swaying hips, and being "afraid to break a nail" as unrelated to sexual orientation. The 10th Circuit disagreed. A jury could reasonably view those comments as mocking stereotypes associated with gay men, especially when considered alongside the explicit anti-gay slurs.

The court also explained that anonymous comments can still matter, remarks directed at others can still shape the workplace environment, and discriminatory slurs are not hearsay when they're offered simply to prove they were spoken rather than for the truth of what they assert.

Perhaps the most significant part of the opinion addresses an issue the 10th Circuit had never squarely decided before. The court held that discrete employment actions—such as a demotion or termination—can also be considered as part of a hostile work environment claim when they contribute to the overall pattern of discriminatory harassment. Those acts don't disappear from the analysis simply because they might also support separate discrimination claims.

For employers, the practical lessons are straightforward.

First, train your supervisors. More employment cases are lost because of a supervisor's offhand comment than because of a complicated legal issue.

Second, never respond to workplace harassment with "boys will be boys." That phrase doesn't end investigations. It creates lawsuits.

Third, don't assume hostile work environment claims require relentless, daily harassment. Sometimes a few extraordinarily offensive incidents are enough.

And if those incidents are ignored or condoned by management, don't be surprised when a jury—not a judge—gets to decide what happens next.

Another day, another sanctions opinion involving a lawyer who filed AI-generated legal work product riddled with hallucinated cases.

This time, it's the 11th Circuit.

The court's opinion reads like something that should be satire but unfortunately isn't. Counsel submitted an opening brief citing at least eight nonexistent cases. After opposing counsel pointed out the problem, he tried to fix it by withdrawing the bad citations. Except the eight cases he "withdrew" weren't the same eight fake cases from his opening brief.

Worse still?

The replacement list consisted of eight more hallucinated cases.

You almost couldn't script it better.

The 11th Circuit responded exactly as it should have. It reminded lawyers that competence requires "legal knowledge, skill, thoroughness and preparation." It emphasized that AI is no substitute for actual intelligence. And it referred the attorney for disciplinary proceedings.

Good.

But here's what bothers me about the inevitable reaction to opinions like this.

People will say, "See? AI is dangerous."

No. That's the wrong lesson.

AI didn't file the brief.

The lawyer did.

AI is an extraordinary tool. But it never replaces my judgment. Nor should it.

I would never file a brief without manually checking every citation and every quotation. I don't care whether those citations came from ChatGPT, Lexis, Westlaw, a first-year associate, or my own memory.

Verification is the job.

In fact, this isn't really an AI problem at all. It's the same professional obligation lawyers have always had.

When Lexis or Westlaw gives me a case, I Shepardize it before relying on it. I confirm that the quotation actually says what I claim it says. I make sure the proposition I'm citing is still good law.

That's not because I distrust Lexis or Westlaw. It's because I'm the one signing the brief. AI deserves exactly the same treatment.

The lawyers getting sanctioned aren't victims of unreliable technology. They're victims of their own willingness to skip the last—and most important—step in the process. They accepted the first answer a machine gave them without exercising independent professional judgment.

That's not innovation. That's laziness.

Every time another sanctions opinion like this gets published, it reinforces the false narrative that AI is incompatible with competent lawyering.

The opposite is true.

Lawyers who learn how to use AI responsibly will have a significant advantage over those who don't. They'll work more efficiently, spot more issues, and deliver better value to clients.

But only if they remember one simple rule: AI can draft your brief. It cannot sign your name.

And that's why the responsibility—for every citation, every quotation, every argument, and every word filed with a court—will always belong to the lawyer, not the software.

Apple's newly filed trade secret lawsuit against OpenAI contains an allegation that should make every employer's ears perk up.

According to the complaint, multiple departing Apple employees allegedly emailed Apple's confidential information to their personal email accounts on their way out the door. Apple also claims that some former employees later used Apple's confidential and trade secret information to help OpenAI develop competing hardware.

Whether Apple ultimately proves those allegations is for the courts to decide.

But the behavior it describes is one of the oldest—and most obvious—red flags in the employee-theft playbook.

When someone suddenly starts forwarding company files to Gmail the week before resigning, odds are they're not creating a personal scrapbook.

The good news is that employees who steal information often leave breadcrumbs. The key is knowing what to look for.

WIRTW #802: the 'it's a small world' edition When the boss gets involved, the investigation is already in trouble. The 4th Circuit just made wage-and-hour class actions a lot harder to certify Why your noncompete agreement could become "Exhibit A" in a discrimination lawsuit. The DOL's World Cup warning is really an overtime compliance warning