It was an ordinary shift at a Wendy’s in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, until the moment a young employee’s dignity was stripped away in the back kitchen. A manager, Michiko Burton, allegedly tied a neurodivergent worker to a metal counter using garbage bags, a makeshift restraint that turned a fast-food restaurant into a scene of quiet humiliation. The employee, whose name has not been released, was not fighting, not causing trouble, and not posing any danger. He was simply trying to do his job. But because his needs were seen as inconvenient, because his presence was framed as a burden, someone in a position of authority decided that the easiest way to handle him was to immobilize him, like an object rather than a person. A coworker, Nicholus Murphy, captured the moment on video, and the footage tells a story that no official statement can soften. In that video, the young man is standing there, tethered to the equipment, unable to move freely, while the world of fast food continues around him. Murphy later told reporters that he felt sad for his coworker, that he actually wanted to cry. That sadness is the natural human response to seeing someone reduced, stripped of their autonomy, and treated as though their existence is an inconvenience. It is hard to imagine the confusion and powerlessness that employee must have felt, standing in a place where he should have been safe, among people he should have been able to trust, and instead being bound with trash bags as if he were refuse himself.
The explanations that followed only made the situation worse. At first, Burton told other employees that she did not want to “babysit” the worker, that she needed him to “stay put” so she could handle her duties in the back. That phrase, “babysit,” is deeply telling. It reveals a mindset in which supporting a neurodivergent employee is not part of a manager’s job, but an annoyance, a chore, something beneath her. It reveals a workplace culture where patience and accommodation are seen as burdens rather than responsibilities. But then, when the video surfaced and the public began to pay attention, the story changed. Burton reportedly told police that she was participating in a “TikTok trend,” that the whole thing was “intended as a joke,” and that the worker was “okay” with being part of it. These two explanations cannot both be true. Either she was trying to keep him out of her way because she resented having to care for him, or she was making a lighthearted video for social media. The contradiction matters, because it shows an attempt to reframe cruelty as comedy only after the cruelty was exposed. Murphy, for his part, asked the obvious question: “If there was a TikTok trend, then where’s the TikTok?” There was no video posted, no viral dance, no punchline. There was only a young man tied up in a kitchen, and a manager who wanted to avoid responsibility. This kind of gaslighting is all too familiar to disabled people and their allies. When a harmful act is called a joke, the victim is expected to laugh, and anyone who objects is accused of being too sensitive. But there is nothing funny about using garbage bags to restrain a human being. There is nothing funny about taking advantage of someone who may not fully understand what is happening to them. And there is nothing funny about a supervisor who sees vulnerability as a reason to mock rather than to protect.
Thankfully, Murphy did not stay silent. He shared the video with his supervisors, and that decision led to a staff meeting with the franchise’s officials. In a recording of that meeting, an area manager addressed the workers directly, and the words were unambiguous. “Whether it be a cruel joke or intended, I don’t care,” the area manager said. “Whatever went on a couple of Sundays ago is unacceptable. Flat out. With anybody, it’s unacceptable.” Those words may sound simple, but they matter deeply. In too many workplaces, when a manager mistreats a vulnerable employee, the response is to minimize, to rationalize, or to protect the person in power. Here, at least publicly, the company did the opposite. The area manager made it clear that the behavior would not be tolerated, and that the responsible manager was no longer with the restaurant. “That is why Michi is not here anymore. Michi is no longer a manager for us.” That is accountability, and it is essential. But it is also only the beginning. Firing one manager does not fix the underlying attitudes that allowed this to happen. It does not address the fact that no one in that kitchen stepped in at the moment the garbage bags were being wrapped around the employee. It does not answer the question of how many other neurodivergent workers are being quietly mistreated in workplaces across the country, not with garbage bags perhaps, but with cruel jokes, with mocking language, with assignments that punish them for their differences, with “babysitting” framed as a burden. Murphy’s decision to record and report was an act of courage, and the area manager’s response was a step in the right direction. But the real lesson is that we need to build workplaces where such incidents never happen in the first place, where every employee is treated with the same basic dignity, regardless of how their brain works.
The legal and social context makes this story even more troubling. The employee was not charged or arrested, in part because he told authorities he was not upset or injured by being tied up. But the absence of charges does not mean the absence of harm. Neurodivergence is an umbrella term that encompasses ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, and other conditions, and according to the Neurodiversity Directory, about 20 percent of the world’s population is neurodivergent. That is not a small, marginal group. That is a substantial portion of humanity, and many of them are in the workforce, showing up every day, trying to earn a living and contribute to their communities. Yet the World Economic Forum has found that an estimated 85 percent of autistic adults in the United States are unemployed, compared with 4.2 percent of the overall population. That staggering gap is not because autistic people cannot work. It is because too many workplaces refuse to accommodate them, too many employers see their needs as inconveniences, and too many managers treat them as problems to be managed rather than people to be supported. Under the Americans with Disabilities Act, qualified neurodivergent employees are protected from discrimination, and employers are required to provide reasonable accommodations. But a law on the books does not change a culture overnight. It does not prevent a manager from seeing a neurodivergent employee as a burden. It does not stop someone from using garbage bags to tie a worker to a counter. What happened in that Wendy’s is not just a bad joke or a poor management decision. It is a vivid, disturbing example of what happens when society’s stated commitment to inclusion is not backed by genuine empathy and understanding. It is a reminder that neurodivergent people are often seen through a lens of deficiency rather than difference, and that this mindset can lead to treatment that would never be considered acceptable for a nondisabled employee.
In the aftermath of the incident, police reopened their investigation and conducted interviews with Murphy, the area manager, and the employee who had been tied up, looking for more information. The restaurant is independently owned and had only opened its doors in 2025, meaning it was still a relatively new establishment when this scandal broke. Wendy’s of Bowling Green, which appears to operate the location, released a statement to WSMV condemning the act. “The safety and well-being of our employees is our top priority,” the statement read. “This behavior is inconsistent with our values and the standards we expect in our restaurants. Upon learning of the situation, it was promptly investigated and appropriate action was taken. We remain committed to maintaining a respectful workplace where all employees are treated with dignity and respect.” Those are strong words, and they are welcome. But statements like this are easy to write in the aftermath of public outrage. The harder work is ensuring that the values they describe are actually practiced every single day. That means training managers not just on food safety and customer service, but on disability awareness and inclusive leadership. It means creating clear reporting channels so employees like Murphy can speak up without fear of retaliation. It means making it clear that accommodating a neurodivergent employee is not “babysitting,” but a legitimate and essential part of management. It means asking questions, not just when a video goes viral, but during every shift, every hiring process, every performance review. The fact that the police are still looking into the incident suggests that the story is not fully closed, and it should not be. There are still questions about who knew what, when they knew it, and why no one intervened sooner. But regardless of how the investigation concludes, the damage has been done. A young man was humiliated in his workplace, and a community of neurodivergent people and their families has been reminded that the world is not always a safe or welcoming place.
At its core, this story is not really about a fast-food restaurant or a viral video or a single bad manager. It is about how we treat the most vulnerable among us. It is about the difference between a workplace that tolerates diversity and a workplace that truly embraces it. The word “babysit” is at the heart of the problem. To describe caring for a neurodivergent employee as babysitting is to say that they are children, that they are incapable, that their presence is a burden on others. But neurodivergent people are not children. They are adults with skills, talents, dreams, and rights. They deserve to work in environments where their differences are respected, where their needs are met with compassion, and where they are never, ever tied to furniture to make someone else’s job easier. No one should have to be tied up to be kept safe, because being tied up is not safety. It is captivity. And no one should have to accept cruel treatment because they are told it was just a joke, because jokes are supposed to make people laugh, not to make them feel helpless and afraid. The young man in that Wendy’s kitchen deserved better. His coworker, Murphy, showed what it looks like to be a true ally: he saw something wrong, he recorded it, he reported it, and he spoke to the media to make sure the story was not buried. The area manager showed what accountability looks like by acting swiftly and speaking plainly. But the rest of us have a role to play too. We can push for better workplace policies. We can support organizations that advocate for neurodivergent rights. We can examine our own assumptions about disability and difference. And we can remember this story, not as a piece of outrage to scroll past, but as a call to build a world where every person is treated with dignity, not because they are convenient, not because they are useful, but simply because they are human.
