You know what’s no longer a day at the beach? A day at the beach.
Last week, we ran a story about the space-hogging and view-blocking luxury tents and cabanas invading our shores. And boy, did the comments pack anger — about the tents, blaring music, parking rates that rival the Seaport’s, and, ominously, if cryptically, certain behavior landing people in “graveyards.”
It’s almost enough to make you nostalgic for the days when people complained about the greenheads and the sharks.
“When you living your life your way starts to harm the people around you, [you need to rein] it in,” read one particularly popular comment. “Wake the hell up.”
Wake the hell up???
Is this the beach we’re talking about — or the Thunderdome?
Maybe I’m misremembering, but at some point wasn’t the beach the poster location for, you know, relaxation? Feel the sand between your toes and all that.
On some beaches, mainly south of Massachusetts, the tension over the pop-up shade villages has gotten so intense that officials (on the Jersey Shore, in Myrtle Beach, S.C., and Ocean City, Md.) have laid down “shade policies” restricting or banning the structures.
Alas, not unlike the Lone Star tick, tents and cabanas are multiplying — and are being driven north by climate change. Some have even triggered rules in Maine.
“Umbrellas, canopies, or sport-brellas shall not be used to reserve space on a beach,” reads the beach ordinance in York. “Any umbrella, canopy or sport-brella that is left unattended for greater than 1.5 hours shall be subject to removal.”
The SPF 50-rated McMansions are the latest irritant, but hardly the only one. With several weeks of summer remaining, here’s a ranking of the nine worst people you’ll meet on the sand.
Smokey the Beach Bum
The world is this person’s ashtray. This offender not only smokes in nature, but litters butts around his blanket, your blanket, and manages to make paradise feel like a dive bar parking lot at 2 a.m. It’s enough to make you wish he would vape.
The Seashell Sergeant
She spends the entire day berating the spouse, the kids, and the kids’ friends. People aren’t eating enough of the food she spent all morning preparing. Or they’re hogging it all. They’re spending too much time in the water. Or not enough. After what we’ve paid for parking! You’ve unintentionally bought a front-row ticket to the most depressing soap opera on the beach.
Lord of the Fries
The guy on the next towel over gave a gull part of his burger, and now word has gone out in the sky: free food 17 feet southwest of the lifeguard stand. You’re in a real-life scene from "The Birds," and since he’s given away all of his food, they’re circling your feast.
Chad from Marketing
Spends the entire afternoon on an endless stream of business calls. Yelling about key performance indicators, synergy, and “touching base” like the beach is a WeWork with a good Zoom background.
The Trespasser
Stomps across your blanket like it’s a public thoroughfare, not noticing as he kicks sand in your hummus, rumples your carefully smoothed setup, and almost runs over the baby with his enormous $500 wagon.
The Olympian
Look, buddy, we’re glad you enjoy every land, sea, and sand sport known to man and Amazon Prime. But we’re not charmed by the shuttlecocks, footballs, frisbees, and kites coming our way at all times. We came to the beach to let down our guard — not to play goalie.
The Close Talker, Beach Edition
This family sets up about 3 inches from your turf, even though there are miles of open beach. Why? They’re too lazy to walk even a few minutes (OK, you were, too, but you got here first). They’re having so much fun, and have brought so many supplies, that pretty soon their stuff starts to bleed onto your towel, forcing you to spend the afternoon patrolling a border only you are focused on.
The Self-Appointed DJ
Announces his arrival on the beach with a walk-on song and things only get louder from there. Decides the beach needs his playlist — and it’s heavy on electronic dance music. You came to the beach to listen to the birds and the sound of the waves in real life. Now your only move is to put on your noise-canceling headphones and pull up the “beach sounds” app on your phone.
The Land Grabber
She hits the beach at 5:30 a.m., sets up her multiple cabanas and chairs in a primo spot, then — her turf claimed — heads home. The villa sits empty until 11 a.m. when she strolls back to claim her oceanfront view. If you don’t like it, tough. The lifeguard is her nephew.
The Universe
OK, not technically a person, but rather everyone and everything that has conspired to put you in a bad mood before you even got to the beach. Traffic that turns a one-hour trip into a three-hour ordeal, with the arrival time ticking ever upward. Nonresident parking fees that have hit $45 on weekends in Gloucester, and, oh, require reservations.
And worst of all: The beach isn’t always as perfect as you’d hoped — but even so, it’s what you’ll pine for come winter.
Beth Teitell can be reached at beth.teitell@globe.com. Follow her @bethteitell.