My View From the cheap seats

I am not saying I am afraid of the flu, but I will cross the street to avoid a man who clears his throat with conviction.

This year’s flu has developed a reputation, which is something you never want a virus to have. When people talk about it, they lower their voices, like they’re discussing a former co-worker who snapped. I have friends who’ve had it and describe the experience the way people describe shipwrecks or extended family reunions — with emotion and lingering bitterness.

Yes, I got my flu shot. I am not reckless. But I also know how this works. The flu shot is like a seatbelt. It improves your odds, but you still don’t go looking for guardrails to test it.

So I am currently avoiding anyone with the slightest sniffle, sneeze, cough, or “I think it’s just allergies” explanation. Allergies are now the opening argument of the guilty.

If you say, “I’m fine,” while holding a tissue, I am already backing away.

We live in an age where people feel obligated to share every detail of their health. Someone will lean in and whisper, “I’m getting over something,” as if that’s reassuring. Getting over something means you still have something. I do not want to meet it.

The flu has turned me into a full-time amateur epidemiologist. I notice things. I track patterns. I remember who coughed first. If someone says, “It came on suddenly,” I mentally replay our last interaction and wonder if that was the moment my immune system filed a complaint.

Public places are now obstacle courses. At the grocery store, I choose checkout lines based not on speed, but respiratory confidence. If the cashier sounds congested, I abandon my cart like it contains suspicious electronics.

Elevators are the worst. Elevators are tiny metal boxes designed to trap you with strangers who believe coughing into their hands is still acceptable behavior. I hold my breath, stare at the floor numbers, and reconsider every life choice that led me to a building with more than one story.

I have also developed a deep distrust of people who say, “I never get sick.” Those are the same people who “never speed” and “only had one drink.” They are tempting fate, and fate is currently very busy.

The flu has even affected friendships. I love my friends. I truly do. But if you text me that you’re “a little under the weather,” I will respond with sympathy and a firm commitment to see you in two weeks. Friendship should not require exposure.

I have stopped shaking hands. I wave now. Cheerfully. From a distance. If someone moves in for a hug, I perform a maneuver that looks like I am tying my shoe or suddenly remembering something urgent in my car.

The irony is that this level of caution probably makes me look sick. I’m the one wiping down shopping carts, opening doors with my elbow, and jumping at unexpected sneezes. People probably think I’m contagious and avoiding them out of courtesy.

Let me be clear: I am avoiding you out of love for my immune system.

I know this will pass. Flu season always does. Eventually, we’ll go back to trusting coughs, sharing popcorn, and assuming everyone’s “just tired.”

But until then, I will remain vigilant. I will keep my distance. I will smile politely from six feet away. Because I have seen what this flu can do. And I am not brave enough — or bored enough — to write a column about having it.