Bug Bites and Bureaucrats

A tale of fatherly frustration in a world that has been shaped utterly by bureaucracy, litigation risks, and safetyism.

Still frame from “The Andy Griffith Show”

“Safetyism” refers to a culture or belief system in which safety has become a sacred value, which means that people become unwilling to make trade-offs demanded by other practical and moral concerns. —Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff

One Sunday, my four-year-old daughter Pia went to a backyard birthday party and got into some fire ants. She ended up with two nasty bites on her foot and proceeded to scratch them. The area around the bites swelled enough to cause us some concern, whether due to an allergic reaction or a mild infection. But before rushing her off to a $150+ urgent care visit, we decided to soak her foot in Epsom salt and administer some OTC antibacterial and antihistamine creams.

Pia was due back at daycare the next day, but her foot was still a little swollen. Still, the creams had worked well enough to prevent further swelling. (I texted my family doctor, who okayed the plan in a text right back.) So we packed the kid, her snacks, and the over-the-counter topical creams and headed off.

Upon arriving at her little school, I told the daycare staff they could administer the creams.

“For us to treat her,” said a young woman behind the counter, “you’ll have to provide a doctor’s note saying the treatment is medically necessary.”

“To rub over-the-counter topical creams on boo-boos?” I asked with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, and the ointments must be delivered in the boxes they came in…”

“I have a text from my doctor signing off on this treatment.”

“I’m sorry.”

This was the same young woman who—another day—had told us we weren’t allowed to deliver cupcakes for the class on Pia’s birthday because, despite having no nuts or peanuts as ingredients, “there was nothing written on the box to indicate that the cupcakes were baked in a nut-free facility.”

So, after being denied the use of the creams, I left in a huff. I didn’t admonish the woman or anything, but she could see that I was angry as a fire ant.

Mayberry Mores

On The Andy Griffith Show, Sheriff Andy Taylor frequently wields his authority with a mix of common sense, empathy, and moral discernment rather than strictly adhering to the letter of the law.

The show is set in Mayberry, a small North Carolina town where everyone knows each other and communitarian values still exist. Though Mayberry and the actions of Sheriff Taylor are fictional, they reveal important truths about how things once were and could be again.

In one episode, landlord Ben Weaver tries to enforce foreclosure on Frank Myers, a kind but financially struggling resident who is late on a single payment. Weaver insists on following rigid legal procedures without concern for Myers's circumstances. But Sheriff Taylor uses his authority to buy some time for Frank and orchestrate a situation that saves Frank’s home. Rather than strictly applying the law, Andy shows empathy and discovers a solution that benefits everyone, reflecting his belief that the law should serve people, not hurt them.

Today, applying Mayberry-style communitarian discernment and values is nigh impossible. Two pincers — litigation fears and managerial bureaucracy — loom over the most trivial interactions.

Sorry Chocolates

Of course, making sure Pia’s foot didn’t get worse throughout the day had to come before indulging my frustration with the school’s bureaucratic enforcement. Had I not calmed down, her mother would have set me straight, anyway. Still, I realized my frustration was with the modern world and not with the poor young woman at the daycare.

She was doing her job. And this wasn’t Nuremberg.

The school’s policy was just a giant CYA measure, probably implemented after some parent somewhere made a fuss or sued the school after some kid grazed a peanut. Yet that example is just another example of bureaucracy’s plastic blanket suffocating the discernment of real people doing their best in everyday contexts like my daughter’s school.

Not only should it be okay for Pia’s excellent teachers to apply topical OTC ointments without pulling in the medical-industrial complex, but parents shouldn’t have to waste time and money. Navigating the byzantine world of boo-boo cream application is a phrase that should never have entered the human lexicon.

Yet here we are.

After calling our family doctor back, running to her office to pick up the “medical necessity” note, buying brand new boxed boo-boo creams at the drugstore, and returning to the school to deliver the creams only to fill out/sign two waivers (one for each box), a third of my work day had circled the drain.

Still, I brought Lindt chocolates to the young woman who initially prompted my frustration. Our shitty litigious world isn’t her fault.

“I’m sorry if you saw me frustrated this morning,” I said, handing her the chocolates.

“It’s okay. You just made my day,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

“You have to deal with a lot of frustrated parents, don’t you.”

She nodded and deftly wiped her eyes.

I hadn’t said anything mean to her. Yet I had said enough with the way I left that morning. Thankfully, she forgave me, and Pia’s teachers treated her boo-boos.

I don’t know if there is much of a lesson here, except that—even in a world that has been distorted by the managerial state and a generation of helicopter parents who have ruined everything with safetyism—there are still a thousand opportunities a day to act with kindness, compassion, and a little bit of wisdom.