I’ve managed to get avoid yet another Summer Friday on the Long Island Railroad. It’s the period of time starting the Friday before Memorial Day and ending after Labor Day in which Fire Islanders, Hamptonites, and Montaukians take over the normal, usually quiet, commute home. Ask an everyday commuter on the Montauk Line about Summer Fridays and I guarantee they’ll make a face or groan. Certain beachgoers have earned a well-used nickname – citiots, short for idiots from NYC.

You can tell easily tell the beachgoer from the regular commuter. Beachgoers are Teva, Havaianas, polo shirts, and sundress-clad; smell heavily of suntan lotion or preppy cologne; carry Vera Bradley duffel bags and totes; have cell phones glued to their ears; and sometimes bring along a small dog, usually without a leash or crate. Your regular commuter is dressed for work, whether business suit or hard hat; has a monthly pass hanging around his neck; carries a newspaper and cup of coffee or platform beer; and attempts to sleep the entire way home.

There are unspoken rules that the regular commuter follows. If there aren’t enough seats, allow someone to sit down next to you. If someone was on the platform before you, allow them to enter the train first. Speak softly on your cell phone. Don’t bug to the commuter next to you if he’s sleeping. Don’t eat smelly food or wear heavy perfume. For the most part, this ends in a peaceful ride home (at least when there aren’t service delays).

But not on Summer Fridays.

The beachgoers arrive in one big swoop, acting like they own the railroad for $46 round trip. You wouldn’t believe the rudeness I’ve encountered. One man sat in the middle seat of a three-seater and refused to move when two people asked him to scoot over so they could sit together. More than once I’ve been woken up by a loud cell phone argument or having beer spilled on me. And in 2006, a beachgoer had her poodle in the seat next to her, while I had a long day at work and just wanted to sit down. She told me, “No, my poodle is sitting here.” Well, Mr. Poodle was not in a carrier, which is against LIRR rules, so I summoned a conductor. The conductor asked her if the dog had a ticket (of course not) and forced her to move to the vestibule – success!

Oh, those poor conductors. I know they have to deal with much more than us regular commuters fighting for a seat. You can hear a certain testiness in their voices some Fridays. “Move your bags! Your dogs must be contained! No, you have to switch at Babylon, not Jamaica! Get your feet off the seats, I told you twice already!”

I’m not saying that all beachgoers are rude, but the more-than-few are enough to make me work remotely on Fridays. On those rare Fridays I don’t work from home, I always leave from Long Island City to avoid the Penn Station logjam. I’m not asking that the beachgoers take the Hampton Jitney every week – only that they follow the unspoken rules that us monthly commuters already have in place. It will make the ride much more pleasant for everyone.

Recommended Reading:

The Rude Hamptons

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