By Oliver Parks, Staff Writer

As the glorious sun wilts from the sky and Mariah Carey begins her annual thawing to enlighten our world with her Christmas wishes, the Outer Banks enters its ever so wonderful “Off Season.”  

We all know the phenomenon: All of a sudden, traffic becomes more tolerable and our economic standing goes into a flash freeze as we wait for the randos to return from whence they came.  

No one likes tourism, especially those who have to deal with the families of 14 who seep from the beach condo cracks in our souls, but we are a community that thrives on the cheap trinkets, odds and ends that are sold to bring artificial joy.

Now I hear you all saying, “But mister newspaper man (that’s my title), we love when a sunburned hotdog of a man comes up to me with their quirky little OBX shirt and asks where the best seafood restaurant is.”  And I get it! I, too, love sweeping the sand dragged in by hordes of small children who were just dragged in from the nearest beach access because their parents were tired of hearing them scream about being hungry.

If anything I’ve described so far sounds even remotely familiar, then that means you’re living the good life. One in which we claim sweet delectable dollar bills from people who graciously spend their free time living our comforts to make themselves feel “exotic.”

I feel that we almost put on an act for ourselves, show an Outer Banks that’s cushioned and “meant for them.” Even if it isn’t voluntary, we know that it only really lasts around three months, and much like your mother stress-cleaning before her in-laws arrive to eat her food, we put on fake smiles. 

It’s what we survive off of, it’s what we have built our community for, a bittersweet relationship we exist in a satirical way for these nobodies and their stupid hats. And, when the time comes, and the clock chimes 12, we drop the act like a poorly masquerading chorus.

We’re tired, we’re beaten, and we know that we have a good two- to four-month cooldown before the creatures from beyond (or worse, Virginia) return to leech from our business life blood.

That brings us back to the God-sent “Off Season.” This glorious time where our blazing temperatures turn to moody chills and the heavens decide to cry buckets upon our lawns. Things get cold, wet and miserable real quick around here and, believe it or not, tourists don’t want to sunbathe in the middle of a hurricane.  

As our numbers drop and our businesses set up to hibernate in these times of change, I am almost filled with this sense of uneasy relief. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a break of any kind as much as the next person who’s lazy and doesn’t like moving, but our little community gets a little hollow when the Joe Schmoes go away. 

Almost like, in a sickeningly sweet poetic way, without the nauseous amounts of human cattle littering our roads and buying out our stores, we lose a little bit of the heart of the Outer Banks.

We make do – we live here, after all – but it’s arguably different without them and their rented Jeeps. Without the true spirit of capitalistic intent, the Outer Banks gets a little duller, which is honestly something that we can’t afford.

Senior Oliver Parks can be reached at 23parksol67@daretolearn.org.