FIPS Summer Stories: Two If By Hipster

 

It's hot and gross and the number one thing New Yorkers love to do in the summer is get the hell out of New York. Whether it's the Hamptons or the Cape, the Adirondacks or Catskills we love to flee the red-hot stink of the city for the months of July and August. Problem is, sometimes the very thing we need a break from follows us to our summer destinations. 

I will begin my tale with a little back story...

Right before, the Clinton-era of Good Feelings, my parents were able to score themselves a house on Martha's Vineyard when it was still affordable. It's been in our family for close to 20 years now and it has been my summer escape ever since. Yes, I know, I'm a lucky bastard. 

So, fast forward to last Wednesday, I'm on my way up to MV and I witnessd something that reminded me that you can't always get away from it all:

At the youthful age of 34 I still do things like ride up to New Bedford with my 76-year-old aunt and uncle in their spotless 2003 Toyota Camry. My 1892 Volvo 940 Turbo can barely make it onto the BQE without complaining about it so driving myself like a big boy was never an option.

Thus, my morning: Up at 6AM to get to Grand Central to meet the retirees for a 7:45 pick up in Greenwich, CT. There was a diner breakfast in Milford at 9:15 followed by an awkward urinal-side conversation with my uncle about bladder control at 9:50 and finally an 11:30 arrival in <beautiful> downtown New Bedford.

My aunt and uncle were on the 12:30 boat and I was on the 3:45 because the 12:30 had sold out days before. That meant I would have to go on stand-by and on the day before the 4th of July, I might as well be Paul Deen walking into...anywhere really. 

Seastreak (the company that now runs the New England Fast Ferry) had a very rigid and methodical stand-by policy:  People on stand-by go congregate over there. If we have room, we’ll tell you to get on the boat. 

Clearly the brilliance of this policy was its sheer stupidity. Also “there” was never clearly defined by any of the staff.  We, as a demoralized collective, took it upon ourselves to create our own refugee area at the front of the ticket holder line… off to the left… on the other side of a concrete meridian.  There we did a very good job of sighing heavily and looking put-upon. 

I counted 17 of us and the atmosphere smacked of the Thunderdome. It was hot, desolate, post-apocalyptic and Tina Turner was walking around in that crazy metal leotard screaming: “Welcome TO THE NEW BEDFORD STATE PEER!!!!” In this case, the Thunderdome was sold out so 17 would try to enter and no one would get in.

I repeatedly told myself I was going to be Zen about the situation. I had the comfort of having a ticket for the 3:45 (also sold out) so I could go get myself an iced coffee and do some work using Seastreak’s “complimentary Wi-Fi in it’s deluxe air-conditioned waiting area complete with cafe.”

Meanwhile in the white-hot sun of my purgatory I heard a voice. It was a man’s voice. Slow and deliberate quasi-deep, affected and irritating. Like a Matt and Kim song but talked through, not sung (oh wait…)

Ok henceforth we will refer to these two as Matt and Kim*. 

As my senses sharpened I realized they were standing right in front of me. Matt had a mess of reddish blond hair. Cut off shorts, gray Chucks and a plaid button down. There were Ray-Bans involved. And then there was Kim; tats all over her arms unshaven armpits a big straw hat on her perfectly chiseled face.  There were Ray-Bans involved. They were with a shorter woman in her mid-60’s. She was in a pink sweat jumper, white Reeboks circa 1996 and a matching visor be speckled with pink Breast Cancer Awareness ribbons. There were knock-off Gucci’s involved. They also had two Union Market bags full of gluten free bread, so needless to say we could've car-pooled. 

Regardless, this is what I hear:

MATT: I’m sorry… ok? Is that ok? I just thought this was New England. Like no rules (clearly he doesn't frequent New England). That I wouldn’t have to make a reservation. I mean... it’s a ferry. 

No one is listening to him.

MATT: I just thought this would be an unfettered travel experience.

He whips out his Iphone and starts feverishly looking up unfettered travel alternatives. Kim is reading a book. I was able to spy that the title: “DOWN THERE: SEXUAL AND REPRODUCTIVE HEALTH” by Susun Weed.

My first thought: God bless this poor 60 something-year-old full-blown mother. She just wanted to walk for a cure and instead she had to deal with:

What’s between our legs can bring us pleasure, but it can be a pain, too. Susun Weed has spent the last three years listening to those down there parts that please and pester us; she shares the fruits of her research in simple, accessible ways.  --From Susunweed.com 

KIM: Matt! I had a dream last night that I slaughtered a rabbit.... Your mother just said there was an Angora rabbit outside her house last night. That has to mean something.

Yeah, you know what it means: you're fuckin' crazy and even 250 miles away from Brooklyn, I can't get away from Brooklyn. Of course, the most Brooklyn thing to do is go and blog about it on a Brooklyn neighborhood blog. Clearly I'm the one who was crazy! How did you spend the 4th of July?  

 *Yes clearly I'm just jealous I'll never be able to walk around the streets of New York City naked in a music video and look that thin. Also these two are not the real Matt and Kim. Just thought I would make that clear in case Matt and Kim were really on that stand-by line as well.