We Need to Stop Saying “Stay Safe”

I picked up Chik-fil-A for lunch today. You know, the home of the original chicken sandwich, peach milkshakes, and, “my pleasure”. And when I grabbed my salad and Diet Dr Pepper in the drive-thru lane and said, “thank you,” she replied with . . .

My pleasure. Stay safe.

I’m pretty sure I screwed up my nose in confusion at her. Sorry if I did, Chik-fil-A employee. I just got a little confused why someone was suddenly worried about my three-mile drive home.

Oh.

Covid, you say?

Huh.

Well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t like this new language we’re creating.

See, if you’ve known me for more than five minutes, you know that of my pettiest complaints is when people who tell me, “have a safe flight” as I’m boarding a commercial aircraft. Seriously, just ask my husband. It’s a comment that’s just never made sense to me. What kind of control over the safety of flight do I have while sitting in seat 3A? I suppose I could make certain to wear my seat belt and count the number of rows to an exit in case of an emergency evacuation, but nothing I can do as a passenger does anything to ensure flight safety in the first place. I think we can all agree on that.

But while this reminder does nothing to affect the safety of flight, it does do something.

It perpetuates the myth that flying is dangerous. Scary. Unnatural. Something that’s inherently not safe. It reminds us that life is risky, and it’s a farewell rooted in fear. Of death, of heights, of metal tubes, of falling, of hitting the ground, of whatever.

Think about it. Have you ever heard a gate agent say it? It’s not a coincidence you haven’t, for suggesting you might be danger is the last thing an airline wants their employees doing.

(Here’s also where I point out here that literally no one has ever told me to “have a safe flight” as I climb into a 172—an activity much more likely to kill me than sitting on an American Airlines A321 drinking a glass of wine.)

And picking up a salad at Chik-fil-A? Interacting with a masked employee for ten seconds, outside, in a January breeze? That’s dangerous now?

Ok, so let’s give her some credit and assume she meant stay safe today. Or even, stay safe from covid, as long as the pandemic lasts.

Is that really any better? Can’t we do something as simple as run through a drive-thru without being reminded of the big, scary virus? We all know it’s out there. We know who’s at risk, and we know what steps we can take to mitigate.

But just like telling someone to have a safe flight, telling us to stay safe places the threat in the front of our minds. It doesn’t allow us to forget it, not even for a second.

Some would argue we shouldn’t be allowed to be forget it. But by focusing all our fears on covid, we’ve forgotten our neighbors at risk from everything else—hunger, mental illness, poverty, illiteracy. And unlike have a safe flight, the continued emphasis on staying safe from covid while ignoring every other threat harms the most vulnerable in society.

Like ordering me to have a safe flight on an Airbus 321 when it’s the Cessna 172 that’s going to kill me, it ignores that to many, the pandemic response has been more harmful than the virus itself. It stokes fear. It calls for more restrictions, less freedom—all this despite the suicides, the overdoses, the children permanently behind in school, the domestic abuse, the panic-buying, the missed cancer screenings, the wealth transfer to the upper classes unlike anything we’ve seen before.

And that’s reason enough to slash the usage.