5. When Avoidance Becomes Abuse: How a Manager’s Personal Discomfort Derailed My Career and Put My Safety at Risk
This is Part 5 of a 7-part account of what happened to me — and to others who were directly affected.
It’s based on what we experienced, what we witnessed, and what we remember. When I describe what someone else did, I’m doing so honestly and carefully. I have documentation and support from others for the key parts. I’m not trying to harm anyone — I’m telling the truth about the harm we lived through.
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Since that phone call in March, a few things have happened.
The owner told me this was a private matter between me and Randy — that he couldn’t get involved.
The retaliation started immediately after I asked for a simple notice to let people know I was no longer part of the event. Nothing more. Shortly after that, Randy — according to what I was told — went through the event’s Instagram and deleted every image and mention of me. No explanation. No acknowledgment. Just gone. I was asked to quietly step away from something I helped create.
I followed every internal route I had. I reached out to management. I asked for a meeting. I followed up. I showed up in person and waited for hours to speak to someone. I was told again that this was between me and Randy — unrelated to my job. But I was still on payroll. I was still an employee.
Since then, I haven’t had a single shift. Staff have asked what happened. I don’t have an answer. My attempts to contact the owner have gone unanswered. I’ve received suspicious emails. No process has been offered. No one has stepped in.
Speaking publicly isn’t something I ever wanted to do. It’s just the only option I have left.
Randy’s behavior is consistently framed around preserving his mental health. If that’s true, if change, feedback, or anything that requires adaptation causes him distress, then that’s something that deserves accommodations in his role as a manager. But it should never be used to justify pushing someone else out, especially the person who challenges him.
I’m now at a point where I genuinely fear for my own safety if I move forward legally. I’m watching someone in power disregard norms, policies, and even laws just to avoid having to face me.
By Randy’s own admission, my return to work seemed to trigger him,not because I did anything wrong, but because I represented the change he refused to confront. I showed up with ideas, with suggestions, and with a track record of hard work. That was enough to make him spiral. On the phone, he said he experiences PTSD just thinking about the work tension I bring. I believe him. Because I think my presence forced him to face something in himself that he couldn’t adapt to.
Even as a co-founder of the project, I was rarely given space to contribute. The one night I did get to implement my suggestions—and saw them actually work—I knew that if Randy had his way, it would never happen again.
I live with a disability, too: a pervasive speech and language disorder. But I was still expected to manage social media, perform in public, and accept criticism when I couldn’t keep up. I was told more than once that I’d be cut if I didn’t produce enough content, even when I shared the login to everyone. Meanwhile, Randy positioned his own mental health as untouchable—as the final word. He acted as the sole point of contact between the bar and the rest of us, filtering every interaction through his personal comfort level.
That’s when it hit me. This isn’t just a workplace issue. It’s about what happens when someone in power will do anything—bend rules, sidestep ethics, ignore basic decency, just to avoid being uncomfortable. And I honestly don’t know how far he’s willing to go to keep me out. What happens when someone makes avoiding you their top priority?
That’s why I’m saying this now before I take legal action. Because if dodging me matters more to him than doing what’s lawful or fair, then people deserve to know what’s been happening before it’s too late.
I rewrote this section at least four times, trying to explain why I wasn’t back at work. That Wednesday, when I got the fake termination email, it felt like my entire life collapsed. My partner. My Family. My support system. My job. My income. My work that I can’t take credit for—gone. I was burning through the life insurance I had just fought to secure. My apartment was next if nothing changed.
I was dangerously close to giving up.
Then I looked at the email again. The spelling errors. The weird formatting. The carelessness. This wasn’t just bad communication. Something felt wrong.
I’d spent weeks emailing coworkers, managers, even Lex. No reply. Then I started hearing that others had casually spoken to Lex. They were getting some updates apparently. I was getting nothing.
So either I’m being deliberately ignored or something more intentional is happening. I’m being excluded from conversations about my own future. Silenced, while others are fed just enough to stay quiet. I keep hearing, “No one’s heard anything,” while I’m receiving fake termination notices triggered by texts I sent to Lex. At this point, I may even be blocked from reaching the rest of the team.
I’ve tried being transparent. I’ve documented every message. I’ve asked direct questions. All I’ve gotten in return is silence.
And silence, when you’re already grieving and trying to stay afloat, can be just as destructive as cruelty. Maybe more so. That’s where I’m at. And no matter what happens next, I know this isn’t just about me. This is part of a pattern—a pattern Randy repeats. And it needs to stop.
This is based on my experience, and on what others who were directly affected went through. Everything here reflects how we saw things happen. When I talk about what someone else did, I’m being honest and careful, sharing what I witnessed or was told. I have documentation and support from others for the key parts of this. I’m not trying to cause harm — I’m telling the truth about harm that happened to me, and to others.
Supporting documents are available upon request.
