For the duration of the-only-three-nice-months-of-the-year, the Local and the Summer Person hereby covenant to the following:

  • The use of zip-off pants, oversized sun hats, and DSLR cameras are strictly prohibited if The Summer Person has any hope of not being mocked by The Local.
  • The Local agrees to not “flip the bird” at the Summer Person out their car window so long as the Summer Person agrees to not drive 15 miles below the speed limit on the one goddamn road in town, just to “soak in the scenery.”
  • The Summer Person is permitted to remark out loud a phrase along the lines of “This town is so quaint” a total of (1) time. While the sentiment may be nice, it is a comment caked with condescension and The Local will take notice.
  • Furthermore, The Summer Person must refrain from saying “this is where the locals go” at every single establishment that has subpar service and a drunk man passed out on the bar before noon. The implication that The Local is classless and “simple” and therefore only dines at dive bars is not as subtle as the Summer Person believes.
  • The Summer Person shall, under no circumstance, ever, for the love of God, pull out a Selfie Stick in a crowded area.
  • In the likely event that the Summer Person purchases apparel that has the name of the town, must-see-attraction, etc, emblazoned on the front, they are highly recommended to wear it as often as possible as it will help the Local identify who should be avoided at all costs.
  • The Summer Person fully accepts and understands that this town is not an amusement park, built purely for their unbridled enjoyment, right? Right?
  • It is inevitable that, at some point, the Summer Person will desire to do The Thing. They are welcome to do The Thing as long as they, deep down, acknowledge that The Local doesn’t actually do or care about The Thing. In fact, The Local thinks The Thing is tacky and overpriced, and there are way better Things down the road at an undisclosed location.
  • The Local is allowed to freely roll their eyes every time they hear a Summer Person declare “we should move here.”
  • The Summer Person agrees to tip generously and often and if that’s too much to ask they can head back to one of their other three homes and have their personal chef make them their own goddamn sandwich.
  • The Local reserves the right to play tricksies on the Summer Person in an effort to sabotage their vacation so they never return.
  • The Summer Person understands that everyone doesn’t actually know everyone, and that when people say that about small towns, it’s just an expression– just ask Sammy Walnuts down at the Deli. That guy is famous for his sayings– just ask Deb Applesauce down at the library, that woman is famous for telling people about how Sammy Walnuts is famous for his sayings– just ask Travis Tapioca down at the local penitentiary, that guy is famous for killing Deb Applesauce’s whole family when she wouldn’t shut up about how Sammy Walnuts is famous for his sayings.
  • The Local, much to their chagrin, understands that their town’s economy almost solely relies on the Summer Person, so the Local will smile and nod along while being enlightened on “the cutest little pastry shop” that the Summer Person just discovered, even though it’s been around for 30 years and is run by The Local’s second cousin, Betsy.
  • At the expiration of the Summer Person’s stay, The Summer Person and The Local must part, not as friends, nor as enemies, nor even really as equals if you think about it, but they must part because holy shit could you imagine if this went on all year long. Jesus Christ, get out of my town you parasitic motherfuckers.

The Thing is what’s plastered on all the tourism websites, it’s what The New York Times highlights every year, it’s The Thing people will stand in line for two hours for, it's what the Summer Person, ostensibly, came here to do.


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