We wanted to find all the differences between two popular Italian food chains, Olive Garden and Zizzi.

• Many companies turn to layoffs to reduce costs, yet some purposefully refrain from making cuts.
• CEOs of companies that have never done layoffs told BI they think the approach is good for business.
• When workers aren't worried about getting cut, they expect to have better careers — and often do.

When the pandemic hit, friends at other companies began calling Melanie Dulbecco to ask whether she planned to lay off workers.

"It's the very last thing we would do," she told them.

Dulbecco has spent decades running Torani, a maker of flavored syrups used in coffee and other beverages.

Stay-at-home mandates presented a crisis for the company whose bottles line the shelves of innumerable cafés.

"We were ready to breathe into a paper bag," Dulbecco told Business Insider.

Instead, company leaders gathered to sketch out how big the blow to sales might be — and how to keep workers safe. The team then set a goal that might only amount to a nice-to-have at other companies: save the business without cutting a single employee.

Layoffs are so commonplace, even outside recessions and life-bending health emergencies, that companies like Torani are among a rarefied few that have never pink-slipped workers en masse.

Such employers are a study in the cultural tailwinds that can spin up when companies eschew broad-based job cuts.

'Grow, baby, grow'

One of Torani's values, and Dulbecco's mantra, is "grow, baby, grow." Yet, she said, it's not just about sales; it's also about employees' well-being. That's been good for business, Dulbecco said.

When she became Torani's CEO in 1991, annual revenue was less than $1 million. This year, the company's centennial, Dulbecco expects sales to top $600 million.

The grocer Publix is also a member of the no-RIF club. The Florida-based chain is the country's largest employee-owned company, with more than 255,000 workers.

One of them is Alec Jones. The 26-year-old has served as a cashier and a bagger and, lately, has been spending more time in the produce department at a Publix in Bonita Springs, Florida. Jones has been with the company for a decade, while many of his friends who work elsewhere have moved from job to job, he said.

"I've been having fun," Jones told BI. He said he feels more secure in his role, knowing that there would have to be a good reason to get fired.

A Publix spokesperson told BI that the company provides clear expectations, mentorship, and training to its associates to help them achieve their best.

The no-layoff bounce

For companies that avoid layoffs, the payoff can be big, said Darryl B. Rice, an associate professor of management at Miami University. He left a career in finance and moved into academia after watching banking colleagues lose their jobs amid the 2008 financial crisis.

He found that organizations that forgo layoffs create a sense of psychological safety that allows workers to thrive.

"Employees believe they are more likely to have career success," Rice told BI. That, in turn, makes it more likely they will do so, he said.

Layoffs, by contrast, tend to pierce that sense of safety and exact a "tremendous" cost in terms of workers' productivity and trust in leadership, said Wayne Cascio, a distinguished professor of management emeritus at the University of Colorado Denver.

When organizations start making cuts, those left standing often spend time doing things like sprucing up their résumés, Cascio told BI. Then, in the year that follows, the workers most likely to leave are the "good performers" because they tend to have more options, he said.

"There's an old saying: 'The first casualty in a downsizing is employee morale,'" Cascio said.

A subsequent casualty can be an employer's reputation with prospective employees, Rice said.

Millennial and Gen Z workers, in particular, have watched parents and grandparents get laid off at various points. That means, Rice said, there's often little sense that an employer would trade profits for people if the business soured.

Not having to think about cuts

Yet worker loyalty can grow when an organization hangs tight to its employees during a crisis.

That's what the window and door maker Marvin did during the 2008 global financial crisis — the deepest economic pothole in generations and one that emanated from the housing market.

As a result, the company saw an unprecedented drop in demand for its products. To make up for lost sales, Marvin temporarily cut full-time workers to 32 hours a week. For three years, the family-owned business also suspended a profit-sharing program, Paul Marvin, the company's chair and fourth-generation CEO, told BI.

During those lean years, "there was no money made," he said. That was the case for the Marvin family and the company's workers, Marvin said.

For more than a century, the manufacturer has been a mainstay in Warroad, Minnesota, a city of about 2,000 people along the Canadian border.

Laying off workers would change a place like Warroad forever, Marvin said. The company's long-term goal is to provide meaningful jobs in its hometown and beyond, he said. That matters more, Marvin added, than something like an annual dividend.

He said many employers are quick to say workers are their most valuable asset.

Yet, "When it comes time to back that up, it's like, 'Did you really mean that? Because it's the first thing you're cutting,'" Marvin said.

He said treating the company's 8,000-plus workers fairly — and the gratitude that results from successful efforts to save jobs in tough times — benefits the business far beyond even a protracted slump in sales.

As at Marvin, workers' tenures at Torani are often measured in decades rather than years.

Francisco Santos joined the San Leandro, California, company in 2002 and has risen to become a team lead for its first manufacturing shift each weekday. Despite his 4 a.m. start time, the 65-year-old isn't ready to give up working at a place where the support for employees is unlike anything he's experienced elsewhere.

For Santos, that includes not having to worry about himself and his colleagues when he hears about other employers laying off workers.

"You don't have to think about that," Santos said.

• I took a seven-day small luxury cruise for $6,500, and it was worth every penny.
• This Windstar cruise was smaller and more intimate than sailings I've done on megaships.
• I fell in love with the little Icelandic towns we stopped in, where I did plenty of hiking.

For a long time, I thought cruises weren't for me. I'd only been on megaships, which have thousands of passengers and always felt a little too touristy.

However, I changed my mind when I took my first small luxury cruise.

I booked a seven-night sailing around Iceland on Windstar's Star Pride ship for $6,500.

Here's why I fell in love with this style of cruise — and Iceland.

Although it was smaller than a megaship, this boat was still amazing

I loved everything about Windstar's Star Pride ship, from my big, comfy bed to the stunning spa.

The cruise size — around 220 guests — was perfect for me. It was small enough to learn fellow passengers' names but big enough that I was never stuck with people unless I wanted to be.

There was also so much to do on board.

I ate cookies, drank coffee, and played cards with new friends in the Compass Rose Lounge. Plus, the nightly line dancing, trivia, and entertainment always felt like just enough stimulation.

I loved that I got to choose whether to eat dinner alone or with strangers if I was feeling social. As a special treat, I even ordered room service (chocolate cake and prosecco) at midnight on my birthday.

As much as I loved the ship, it was Iceland that really drew me in

Every Icelandic port was magical.

At Heimaey Island — where puffins nest and a volcano looks down over the village — we drifted off the ship to explore. I hiked and wandered through the city to eat excellent caramel ice cream with salted black licorice.

Even though it was my first time there, the welcoming environment almost made me feel like a local.

When we docked in the artistic little town of Seydisfjordur, though, I really fell in love with Iceland. There were cheerful Nordic prefab houses, cute cafés, and a blue church at the center of town along the famous rainbow sidewalk.

In town, we were treated to an acoustic concert by two Icelandic musicians, and I was in awe hiking through the Vestdalur Valley. It was dotted with small flowers and stunning waterfalls.

The rest of the cruise was peppered with more wonderful experiences: A hike to Goðafoss Waterfall, a beer and pickled-shark tasting at a local pub in Ísafjörður, an afternoon soaking in the hot springs at Mývatn Nature Baths.

I didn't want the week to end, and I'm already ready to go back

By the end of the week, ship dinners that started as stilted affairs became fluid and loose-limbed. People showed off their new Icelandic wool sweaters as they walked from table to table to chat with each other.

On our last night on the ship, a group of us were bracing ourselves for a big goodbye when a volcano erupted just outside Reykjavík. We could just make it out in the distance.

As a few people wondered if this would impact our ability to disembark the next day, I found myself wishing it would.

I wasn't ready to leave. The small ship felt precious to me in a way no other cruise ever had.

We made it to port, and I got home safe. But I already know I'll be booking another small luxury cruise in the future.

• I've had the same conversation about leaving Facebook throughout the years.
• I can't do it because I've found support groups that help me being an adoptive mom.
• Facebook mom groups remind me that I'm not alone in what I'm going through.

Over the last few weeks, I've seen the same conversation play out on Facebook over and over again — "I'm leaving. Find me on Discord, Slack, Mastodon, or whatever platform the cool kids are flocking to now."

And every time, I have the same reaction. Mastodon? Is that a dinosaur? Discord? I don't know how to use that. Am I a dinosaur?

For several years now, I've pondered deactivating my account. I worry about the privacy of my data, and the new fact-checking policy is concerning at best. Most of all, however, I think about the giant time vacuum Facebook can become and the implications for my mental health. Loneliness is an epidemic in our country, and if I'm not careful, my minutes on social media make me less connected, not more.

Even with these concerns, I stay.

I stay for the mom groups

I'm not staying because of Marketplace, although we bought a great used car for our sons there. I occasionally peruse listings to see if I can retire soon after selling my collection of Holiday Barbies. But no, Marketplace isn't enough for me to stay.

Similarly, it's not the "On This Day" feature keeping me there, although I worry about my lost data when/if I exit. I started using Facebook not long before our family grew through adoption, and many sweet moments of those early family days are preserved on Facebook, like when my son called me "a robot with a heart" because I was good at trivia.

I certainly don't stay for the political drama, insensitive trolls, or bizarre targeted ads.

I stay on Facebook because I've found niche groups for moms that can't be replicated in real life.

They've helped me through so much

When I became a first-time mom to a 7- and 8-year-old through adoption, I joined two Facebook groups of moms I met through our agency and the early blogging world. These women quickly became my closest friends.

We shared Ethiopian recipes, bedtime tips, travel advice, and more. Several of us have connected in person, deepening our friendships and introducing our spouses and children. Our kids are teenagers and young adults now; our concerns have shifted to college choices, driver's licenses, and perimenopause. Some of our connections have waned, but still, these women walked with me through some dark days, including my experience with post-adoption depression. Their friendship is invaluable to me.

Those adoption groups were my on-ramp to the amazing world of Mom Facebook.

When our family relocated from Iowa to Saint Paul, Minnesota, I found community in a group for local moms of teens. Like pioneers on the Oregon Trail, forging a path without a map, we parented through the pandemic — armed not with supplies and survival skills, but with cheeky memes and words of encouragement as we blundered through online school. This group is a highly specialized search engine, a Google on steroids, answering these questions and more: "Where should we sign up for driver's ed? Where are your kids buying pants these days? Any great intel on landing a job at the state fair?" These moms are smart and responsive, and because it's a local group, we are lucky enough to connect in person, too.

I stay afloat because they support me

Most recently, I've joined a group for moms of young adults dealing with epilepsy. This stage of our parenting journey feels like being blindfolded and thrown into the deep end after eating too many doughnuts. I'm staying afloat only because of these other moms. We discuss medicine changes and side effects, driving laws, and disappointment.

While I have several supportive "real-life" friends, it's so refreshing to communicate with others who get this unique and challenging season. "Me too" and "Same" are life preservers.

I'm sure there are Facebook groups for moms who have kids with autism and kids who play the ukulele. Soccer and vegan moms can find their community, as can new moms, old moms, and everyone in between.

On a platform that often feels isolating, Mom Facebook reminds me I'm not alone.

I've greatly decreased my Facebook use by deleting the app from my phone, and I'm much more conscious about what and where I'm posting. Still, I'm here (for now) connecting with other moms on a similar parenting road.

At least until someone teaches me how to use Discord, or I learn what a Mastodon is.

• Warren Buffett built a cash mountain, sold stocks, and halted buybacks last year.
• He nearly doubled Berkshire Hathaway's cash to $334 billion and sold a net $134 billion of stocks.
• Berkshire paid the most corporate income tax to the IRS of any American company in history, he said.

Warren Buffett stacked up record amounts of cash, made sweeping cuts to his stock portfolio, and even stopped buying back his own company's shares last year, as the world's foremost bargain hunter steered clear of a red-hot market.

The stock sales meant the famed investor's Berkshire Hathaway conglomerate paid the most corporate income tax of any American company in history, Buffett said in his annual shareholder letter on Saturday.

The four charts below tell the story of Buffett's remarkable year.

Buffett continued to balk at lofty valuations for public companies and private businesses in 2024. Instead of paying top dollar, he opted to build Berkshire's pile of dollars, Treasury bills, and other liquid assets.

The value of Berkshire's cash and cash-equivalent assets nearly doubled last year, from around $168 billion to $334 billion (or $321 billion after subtracting $12.8 billion of payables for purchases of Treasury bills). Both figures exceed the $307 billion market value of one of Buffett's favorite companies, Coca-Cola.

It also means nearly a third of Berkshire's $1 trillion market value is effectively money in the bank.

Buffett and his team jettisoned several longheld stocks in Berkshire's portfolio last year, and pared their two largest positions: Apple and Bank of America.

A dearth of compelling deals meant they only spent about $9 billion on stocks, down from around $16.5 billion in 2023 and $68 billion in 2022.

On the other hand, they disposed of stocks worth $143 billion — more than triple the $41 billion worth they sold in 2023, and more than quadruple the $34 billion figure for 2022.

On a net basis, Buffett and his team offloaded $134 billion or a Boeing's worth of stocks in 2024, dwarfing their net $24 billion of sales in 2023.

Buffett preaches that a company should only repurchase its stock if it's trading at a material discount to its intrinsic value. Berkshire's Class B shares have more than doubled since the start of 2021 to trade at a substantial 60% premium to book value.

Following his own guidance, Buffett has pulled back on share repurchases as the stock price has climbed. Berkshire bought back more than $20 billion of its own stock in both 2020 and 2021, then less than $10 billion worth in 2022 and 2023.

It repurchased $2.6 billion of stock in the first quarter of last year, then only $300 million worth in the second quarter. It ceased repurchases altogether in the third and fourth quarters.

The message to investors is that Buffett has stopped viewing Berkshire stock as undervalued, and no longer believes it's worth repurchasing.

Berkshire paid $26.8 billion in corporate income tax to the IRS in 2024, Buffett revealed on Saturday.

The 94-year-old CEO wrote that was the largest amount ever paid by any US company ever, and made up about 5% of all the federal income tax paid by American companies last year.

Berkshire's income tax payments totaled $28.5 billion last year, more than triple the $7.8 billion it paid 2023. The sharp increase largely reflects its stock sales last year, as the company realized taxable gains on holdings such as Apple.