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She hated authority until she became boss. Here's how she treats her employees.

She used to work in the kitchen. Now she's the boss.

She hated authority until she became boss. Here's how she treats her employees.

Kim Bartmann describes herself in a few different ways.

She's a self-professed tree hugger. She was a cook who never wanted to work in a restaurant again, but now she owns eight of them. She says she comes from a "punk-rock culture" and was "very anti-authoritarian" until she had to step and be the boss.


How does a free-spirited, eco-friendly food enthusiast become a booming restaurateur in Minneapolis?

In college, Kim supported herself by working as a cook. She saw lots of her coworkers being treated like crap and vowed never to work in a situation like that again. When she went into business, her main priority was creating a culture where both employees and customers were treated well.

She built her businesses on a set of rock-solid values and always made sure to put the important stuff first.

For her newest venture — Tiny Diner — those values include paying her employees a living wage and giving the kitchen workers free meals. Compared to the national average, where waiters earn around $21,600 per year, that means Kim's commitment to her values can make a significant improvement in her employees' lives.

At the Tiny Diner, Kim and her team have created an atmosphere that encourages folks not only to eat, but also to sit and chat for a while.

"I think that small business relies on diversity at the end," Kim says, explaining that in a diverse and connected city like Minneapolis, "what we see today is that restaurants are replacing some of the more traditional community gathering spots, and that's really fun."

And she gets props for doing all of this while also being kind to the environment.

Her team installed solar panels on the building to maximize their natural resources, and the diner also grows 70% of its food in a garden out back.


What Kim is doing is something that a lot of businesses could replicate pretty easily.

Her strategy is fairly simple. She wins by keeping her employees happy and creating an eco-friendly environment that appeals to a wide variety of customers.

Plus, she's doing it in a neighborhood that no one wanted to touch.

When she first started working in South Minneapolis in 1983, she says "it was perceived as not a good neighborhood, which is a complete misperception," adding that Tiny Diner has been full since it opened.

One customer who has lived in the neighborhood her whole life said she appreciates Tiny Diner because she's "not about supporting big chains, so places like this, I love. And I love the garden outside, too. I think that's awesome."

That's right — mom and pops shops for the win. Keep doing you, Kim!

You can check out the Tiny Diner in action by watching the video below:

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
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Glenda moved to Houston from Ohio just before the pandemic hit. She didn't know that COVID-19-related delays would make it difficult to get her Texas driver's license and apply for unemployment benefits. She quickly found herself in an impossible situation — stranded in a strange place without money for food, gas, or a job to provide what she needed.

Alone, hungry, and scared, Glenda dialed 2-1-1 for help. The person on the other end of the line directed her to the Houston-based nonprofit Bread of Life, founded by St. John's United Methodist pastors Rudy and Juanita Rasmus.

For nearly 30 years, Bread of Life has been at the forefront of HIV/AIDS prevention, eliminating food insecurity, providing permanent housing to formerly homeless individuals and disaster relief.

Glenda sat in her car for 20 minutes outside of the building, trying to muster up the courage to get out and ask for help. She'd never been in this situation before, and she was terrified.

When she finally got out, she encountered Eva Thibaudeau, who happened to be walking down the street at the exact same time. Thibaudeau is the CEO of Temenos CDC, a nonprofit multi-unit housing development also founded by the Rasmuses, with a mission to serve Midtown Houston's homeless population.

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Empathy. Compassion. Heart-to-heart human connection. These qualities of leadership may not be flashy or loud, but they speak volumes when we see them in action.

A clip of Joe Biden is going viral because it reminds us what that kind of leadership looks like. The video shows a key moment at a memorial service for Chris Hixon, the athletic director at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida in 2018. Hixon had attempted to disarm the gunman who went on a shooting spree at the school, killing 17 people—including Hixon—and injuring 17 more.

Biden asked who Hixon's parents were as the clip begins, and is directed to his right. Hixon's wife introduces herself, and Biden says, "God love you." As he starts to walk away, a voice off-camera says something and Biden immediately turns around. The voice came from Hixon's son, Corey, and the moments that followed are what have people feeling all their feelings.

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Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
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Glenda moved to Houston from Ohio just before the pandemic hit. She didn't know that COVID-19-related delays would make it difficult to get her Texas driver's license and apply for unemployment benefits. She quickly found herself in an impossible situation — stranded in a strange place without money for food, gas, or a job to provide what she needed.

Alone, hungry, and scared, Glenda dialed 2-1-1 for help. The person on the other end of the line directed her to the Houston-based nonprofit Bread of Life, founded by St. John's United Methodist pastors Rudy and Juanita Rasmus.

For nearly 30 years, Bread of Life has been at the forefront of HIV/AIDS prevention, eliminating food insecurity, providing permanent housing to formerly homeless individuals and disaster relief.

Glenda sat in her car for 20 minutes outside of the building, trying to muster up the courage to get out and ask for help. She'd never been in this situation before, and she was terrified.

When she finally got out, she encountered Eva Thibaudeau, who happened to be walking down the street at the exact same time. Thibaudeau is the CEO of Temenos CDC, a nonprofit multi-unit housing development also founded by the Rasmuses, with a mission to serve Midtown Houston's homeless population.

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via Witty Buttons / Twitter

Back in 2017, when white supremacist Richard Spencer was socked in the face by someone wearing all black at Trump's inauguration, it launched an online debate, "Is it OK to punch a Nazi?"

The essential nature of the debate was whether it was acceptable for people to act violently towards someone with repugnant reviews, even if they were being peaceful. Some suggested people should confront them peacefully by engaging in a debate or at least make them feel uncomfortable being Nazi in public.

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The English language is constantly evolving, and the faster the world changes, the faster our vocabulary changes. Some of us grew up in an age when a "wireless router" would have been assumed to be a power tool, not a way to get your laptop (which wasn't a thing when I was a kid) connected to the internet (which also wasn't a thing when I was a kid, at least not in people's homes).

It's interesting to step back and look at how much has changed just in our own lifetimes, which is why Merriam-Webster's Time Traveler tool is so fun to play with. All you do is choose a year, and it tells you what words first appeared in print that year.

For my birth year, the words "adult-onset diabetes," "playdate," and "ATM" showed up in print for the first time, and yes, that makes me feel ridiculously old.

It's also fun to plug in the years of different people's births to see how their generational differences might impact their perspectives. For example, let's take the birth years of the oldest and youngest members of Congress:

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