Open Season

Memorial Day weekend means different things to different people. In Duck, it means the visitors will arrive in force, and be here at least through labor day. Local's cars are plastered with bumper stickers that chronicle a myriad of opinions on the subject. They range from sincere, "sign of welcome.." sorts to disparagements of regional driving ability (driving style if you consulted the disparaged party). Some go as far as likening tourist season to hunting season. Suffice it to say, though opinions vary our economy is dependent upon our visitors, absentee owners and tourists alike. For that reason they are welcome. I must make an attempt to understand their presence though, and what it means to me and my community. In short, they are an inconvenience that enriches our community, in the best case. In the worst case we are the exploited party in what can only be characterized as a prostitution of--or perhaps more accurately--the rape of our community. It all depends on the behavior of the guest. I'll go dark first in an effort to end on a high note. On their worst behavior, visitors arrive in a flashy vehicle of some sort. They shout from the cockpit of their usually topless, jackass mobile at cyclists sharing the road and whistle inappropriately at under age passerby modeling swimwear their mothers thought was a bad call--they are now certain of this hunch. They go on to toss empty beer bottles from their machismo floats, on their way to restaurants, where they complain that their meal was not as familiar as their neighborhood Applebee's. They get drunk, and tip poorly. They attempt to drive two blocks home, maim or kill an innocent passerby. All parties at the scene deny that they were the driver. And they return perennially. Hence the snarky bumper stickers. Fortunately they are the minority. The majority strike a much more familiar chord. The holiday family get together. I encourage a listen to Robert Earl Keen's "Merry Christmas From the Family." Elements of it are inappropriate and embarrassing, but so is family. Tourist season is metaphorically like hosting some ridiculous family reunion. You are anticipating your extended family's arrival, we'll say for the Fourth of July week (can you feel the heat and humidity). You've casually prepared for weeks. You've finally organized your garage, the foul weather, back-up gathering location. You didn't want to clean it up and turn it into party headquarters. You know it will set you back weeks on your high performance riding lawn mower customization, but you make the sacrifice. They are family. They are entitled to your hospitality. You've cut the grass and mulched the flower beds. You don't want to seem like some sort of hack, your "spouse" has encouraged you to put your best foot forward. As you anticipate your extended family's arrival your mind is consumed with two thoughts. One: you are much more put together than you feel like you will be able to communicate--or, more accurately--you can't help it that the damn package store was out of the good margarita mix, why does you sister in law insist on drinking top shelf tequila if she's just going to wreck it with mixers anyway? Two: You know the second cousins said they were more than happy to sleep on the hide-a-bed in the den, but you also know that if they aren't uncomfortable there, they will definitely make you uncomfortable being there. Faced with this, you know from experience that the following will happen: At least one party will arrive inexplicably early. At least one party will stay inexplicably late. You will wash an unbelievable amount of dishes, even though you remember providing compostable paper plates and silverware at every meal (five a day!). No one will notice or comment on amenities that you improved upon or expanded from last year. No one will thank you for hosting--yet again. Someone will break something. It will cost you a lot. Though these people are extended "family," the whole experience will stress your immediate family. You will have an inexplicable surplus of food. You will have an inexplicable deficit of beer. We've all been there, or will be. Now imagine either being assaulted by thugs or visited by family for a period of three months. . . . Open Season.