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POLL: Is Summer the Worst Season?

Summer: the season of beaches, picnics, chasing speeding ice cream trucks down the block in bare feet.

I know it may be hard to believe when I say this, but summer is the worst season. I’m not just being a cynic; I appreciate and respect all the other seasons for who they are. So, in lieu of the subpar hip hop musical I wrote about harboring this unpopular opinion (I couldn’t compete with the master), I’ve assembled a fact-checked list of why summer is just another excuse for people to bust their butts on one of those stupid hoverboards. Get ready, because things* are about to get heated.

*my opinions, my scalp burn

The heat. This is probably the most obvious downside, since most office and retail jobs frown upon bringing your own inflatable pool to work, and the novelty of frying an egg on the sidewalk wears off pretty fast. The only real chances you have to cool off are at the public pool, in shopping malls with sub-zero thermostat readings, and in a subway car when the train halts and a stranger spills their cold brew all over your shirt.

The public pool. Speaking of public pools… Going to the pool can be nice towards the end of spring or before it closes at the beginning of autumn, but during the height of the summer it can be a scene my nightmares. Call me nuts, but suspiciously warm water and ~one square foot of sunbathing grass to work with just isn’t my thing.

The beach. Ugh. I think mass consumption of advertisements has classically conditioned us to to see this flash across our line of vision when we hear the word “beach.” When in reality, you end up sweaty and dehydrated, and will be jettisoning sand from your crevices for dayyys. As the saying goes: your scalp burn is worth a thousand words.

Cookouts. If you’re like me and you hate having to make choices, cookouts can be a rock scramble. Do you go for the hot dog or hamburger? The watermelon or the cookie? A second burger or an eighth slice of watermelon? Also, you’re also at constant risk of being roped into a political discussion by your neighbor’s anarchist uncle.

Summer jobs. How are you supposed to have the summer job romance promised by the movies if you’re too hot to even want to talk to anyone? Props if you can bond over your mutual swampy armpits and relocate to an air-conditioned venue after your shift.

The dogs are too hot. As far as I’m concerned, each season should be ranked exclusively based on how it affects dogs. By this standard, summer is definitively the worst. Dogs in the street are panting for their lives. If you’re holding a water bottle and you walk past a bulldog on a hot day, you are going in my Burn Book.