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The Sheltered Islander
Island Elephants
By Sally Flynn
Memorial Day has come and gone and the tourist season is officially begun. Every year, at this time, I try to put forth some gentle reminders for both tourists and locals.
Tips for Tourists:
Top speed on Shelter Island is 40 mph, unless you're a local man in a truck, then it's 65 mph. On the surface, that seems a bit unfair. It's unfair below the surface as well, but it's an elephant in the living room, more accurately an elephant on the Island, that we just don't talk about.
Many of you bring your bikes to ride and that's very nice. And if there's a gaggle of you (seven or more) riding in a group, you may take up a lane on the road and none of the cars will try to go around you. If you're biking in a smaller group, like three, you'd better ride single file and stay way over on the right or risk being hit by one of the aforementioned elephants.
Courtesy is the key to the Island. Locals may fight and feud, but cutting someone off in traffic, or cutting in any line, or failing to yell to them that they left their Coke on top of their car before they get into it is unacceptable. So when you're in a food store and a local worker is behind you with his sandwich, bag of Cheetos and a drink, and you have a cart full of groceries, let him go ahead of you. He has a 30-minute lunch and is probably going to bolt his sandwich down in the truck - give the working people a break. And remember, never comment about how the workmen smell. Sweat is the scent of honest work, not to mention, you may see that same worker fixing your deck later that day. Rudeness seems to increase the time and/or cost needed to complete a task. On the surface, that seems a bit unfair. It is unfair below the surface as well, but it's another elephant on the Island.
To the visiting women. We know you're here to feel free and have a wonderful time. However, there is a weight and age limit to belly shirts, thongs, sleeveless tanks, short shorts and going braless. If you're over 18 or over 110 pounds, you're over the limit. I myself was only qualified to wear short shorts for one day in third grade, and then only for a half hour.
Tips for Locals:
Attention MITs (Men in Trucks)! Please don't paint those little symbols of bikes, tiny cars and jogging tourists with big "Xs" through them on the side of your truck this year. It scares people. Just keep score by carving a notch in your dashboard and an accounting will be done after Labor Day, at someone's end of summer barbecue.
Ladies, please refrain from beating tourists who are taking too long at the deli counter at the IGA with the baguettes. It's childish and unbecoming. If you jam them in the back of the ankles with the cart like I do, they hobble away in pain, which effectively takes them out of line and you can claim the whole thing was an accident. Also, why waste those lovely baguettes?
We all love shells. Last week I wrote about the loss of shells on the Island beaches. Later, it occurred to me that the problem might well be female tourists stealing our shells! We either have to invent, or find, a shell scanner that all cars exiting the Island will have to go through. We can build them near the ferries. As the car passes through, the scanner will outline the contraband shells being smuggled off Island. We can stop them in their tracks and do a conch crackdown. We have plenty of dogs on the Island that can be trained to be shell sniffers. If dogs can smell drugs through plastic wrap, foil and coffee grounds, then smelling seaweed stuck on a shell at 100 paces should be easy. The Town Board can institute a Brine Fine for shell smugglers. This will put an end to the "taking home a pretty shell as a souvenir" mentality! So just buy a T-shirt at the pharmacy like any tourist.
Of course, locals can take shells off Island whenever they wish. On the surface, that may seem a bit unfair. But it is very fair below the surface where the shells originate. And it doesn't qualify as an elephant on the Island that we won't talk about, because elephants don't live underwater. That's where the giant clams that eat tourist legs live, but we don't talk about them either.
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