Feeling a need to sneeze in public? It’s hard not to blow it as pollen, pandemic collide
A longer-than-usual mid-February hot spell convinced our gardens and trees that “Whee! It’s spring!”
That sent the annual yellow cloud descending over the Central Coast.
The pollen falls in a sticky blanket that coats everything. Our white van was yellow, and the royal blue Toyota was a sickly shade of green often associated with ill babies or dead guacamole.
Our deck and patio were so thickly coated that I could inscribe “wash me!” in the golden goo.
We washed them all one day, and by the next, you’d never know it.
No wonder we sneezed a lot.
Push meets shove, however, when we sneeze or cough in public. Still, even with so many pandemic restrictions being lifted recently
Allergy season and a pandemic have been strange bedfellows, socially speaking.
Sneeze suddenly when there are other people near you, and you’d see understandable looks of horror as they all rapidly tried to be someplace else, scuttling away like toddlers caught fingerpainting the couch. “Who, me, Mom? Not me!”
My immediate reaction? “No, no! It’s allergies, I promise! I tested negative. Yesterday.”
Didn’t help. Even if the sneeze hit while I was wearing a mask (which was then soaked and useless).
And yes, I’m still wearing a mask when I’m out and about. I’m not going to sink into the mask-no-mask pandemic argument. Let’s just leave it at I’ve worn masks for years during allergy season, wildfire times and those months when colds and flu bugs are on the rampage.
It’s bad enough to be sneezing on repeat. I don’t want to get sick on top of that.
How to not freak out the populace
But how AM I supposed to sneeze in a responsible way when I’m out and about, trying to avoid feeling like Typhoid Mary?
I haven’t figured that one out yet. And yes, I’m still sneezing.
Online advice says, if I don’t have a tissue handy, I should lift my inner elbow to my nose to block the sneeze.
That trick doesn’t always work, especially if you’re carrying a cup of hot tea in one hand and 167 very important papers in the other.
A distant-second option? I could pull my collar over my nose before the allergy typhoon hits. My blouse would expand like a blimp and my boob would get an unsavory shower, but hey, if it works ….
Alas, no. Aiming my sneeze between my collarbone and my collar rarely works for me. Most of my tops are collarless, and getting my nose under a V-shaped neckline in time to block a sneeze would make me look truly kinky.
Especially if my hands are still full.
The CDC website has had some not-so-helpful advice, especially for when we’re out in public: Block your sneeze with a tissue (the nearest one is in my van, four blocks away); use the elbow maneuver (see above); immediately wash your hands after you cough or sneeze (I don’t even know where the nearest sink is!); and avoid being around sick people … you mean like the woman next to me at the supermarket, the one who sneezed as she snagged the beautiful heritage tomato I wanted?
Sneaker sneezes
It might be easier to camouflage or block a sneeze if they didn’t sneak up on you like a mischievous youngster with a water balloon, just waiting to catch you unaware.
If sneezes came with adequate warning, I could maybe prepare for the onslaught, hiding in a closet, sticking my head in a cabinet, lurking behind a throw pillow or, at the very least, turning away and sneezing toward the wall behind me.
But no. Advance notice is very rare.
And at the doctor’s office?
Aaaaacccccchhhhoooo!
“ Oh, no! So sorry, ma’am! Let me go retrieve that magazine you were reading, the one I just sneezed on so hard it flew across the room. No? You don’t want me anywhere near you now and besides, you plan to put on disposable gloves and throw the magazine away?”
Sigh. “I understand. I am sorry.”
Flocks of sneezes
Sneezes also often arrive en masse, like the soaring swallows and bats that dart about at dusk, swooping over our meadow in their search for their bug-filled dinners.
If people standing near me at the supermarket or a restaurant are horrified when I sneeze once, just imagine how quickly they’d exit, stage left, if I’m sneezing in multiples.
I can clear the entire produce department in less than 60 seconds.
“No, no! It’s allergies, I promise! I tested negative. Yesterday.”
Still doesn’t help.
Corporate settings
It’s all in the optics and perceptions, I guess. A sneeze is messy. A sneeze is noisy, and contagious, maybe. A sneeze is humanity in a very undignified state.
Which begs the issue of how to maintain a sophisticated, businesslike image when your eyes are watering, your red nose is dripping and crumpled Kleenex are poking out of every pocket.
Fortunately, for some working folks, face-to-face company meetings still aren’t back on our calendars yet, or are optional thanks to hybrid blends.
But just try hiding a sneezing fit up close and personal on Zoom.
Especially with sneaker sneezes that hit way too fast for you to find and click the mute button. So, all your colleagues will see your head thrashing up and down like a manic bobble-head doll, and they’ll hear the Magnitude 6 explosion of all your sneezes.
It’s almost as bad as the coffee ad on TV that shows a Zoom-attending, biz-jacketed guy who’s not fully dressed below the belt.
The only comfort in all this? Many of us are sneezing now. Misery loves company.
Except during a pandemic. In public.
We can’t win.
Aaaaachhhhoooooo!!! God bless you.
This story was originally published February 23, 2022 at 5:00 AM.
