This post originally appeared on VICE Canada.
When Fucked Up wrote "I Hate Summer," they were speaking for a small but vocal segment of society. Especially here in Canada, we've been taught for generations that our reward for surviving the soul-crushing bleakness of winter is that brief, blissful respite that summer brings to our cruel and brutal lives. But thanks to climate change, summers up here are approaching Mad Max levels of torture and are no longer a well-earned oasis but rather a seasonal cesspool of hot garbage. Fuck summer. It's OK to say "wakeboarding seems like a douchey sport for rich kids at their daddy's cottage." It's OK to say, "I'd rather stay indoors in this air-conditioned environment. The sun will still be there tomorrow."
So for those of you who would rather be in a peacoat and a toque, this story goes out to you. No longer do we have to stand for the tyranny of those "let's go to the park, it's so nice out" fuckers. For some of us, summer is the shittiest season—and in case you disagree, we assembled a list to show you why you're so wrong.
White People Talking About Sunburns
Most of my friends are white, and most of the time, that's not an issue. It does, however, become almost unbearable during the summer months on any day that the sun is shining, and the temperature is above 60 degrees. When this happens, without fail, my normally smart, witty, interesting friends seem only to want to discuss one thing: sunburn and/or the possibility of getting sunburnt. "What SPF are you using?" they ask one another, as if an answer above "30" is going to provide some sort of exciting thrill. "OMG I'm soooooo white, look at my arms, they're already red," they squeal. Maybe I'm just paranoid at this point, but it seems like they're bragging about how easily they get burnt. My point being: STFU already. You have been white for your entire life, the sun has been around for your entire life, and you've likely been using sunscreen for your entire life. Why are you acting like these three things in combination is some sort of crazy surprise that you can't help but obsess over? You should know the drill by now. And the drill—e.g. applying cream on your body when you are exposed to UV rays—is not that fucking interesting. Especially to brown folk, who generally don't burn and don't need to worry about "getting some color." —Manisha Krishnan
Clothing (or Lack Thereof)
One of the reasons summer is the worst three to four months of the year is because of the shit you have to wear to stay cool—which for the most part means very little. Since everything that actually looks somewhat fashionable is made by bougie designers in Europe (every movie made in London has fog and rain, so I'm just going to assume it's constantly a cool 41 degrees), you'll likely spend most of your summer wearing ill-matching shorts and T-shirts as you sweat disgusting grey spots in them.
If you're pale (like me), this factor will be ten times worse due to not wanting to blind people with your exposed skin as you walk down the street, or hangout poolside. Anyway, enjoy wearing jeans for the entire season, you vampire-looking ass motherfucker. —Jake Kivanc
"Bruh, are you going to Digital Dreams?" "Dude, you have reach for OVO Fest!" "Did you see the fucking lineup for that festival that's a ten-hour drive from any form of civilization? It's gonna be fuckin LIT." It's nearly impossible to go more than 24 hours during this godforsaken season without being asked if you are attending a music-oriented outdoor event due to the crushing pressure of corporate marketing specifically targeted at millennials willing to level their bank accounts for the commodification of partying.
You sell your soul and firstborn for a ticket. You take a fucking "shuttle" (actually a decommissioned school bus) to the boonies. You spend all weekend in a constant state of losing your friends due to lack of cell service, miss half the acts you meticulously planned for, and then accidentally snort a line of ketamine that you thought was cocaine in a strange dreadlocked white man's tent lined with dry mud inside. And that's not to mention the porta potties. —Allison Elkin
Whether you're at a music festival or a campground, it's really only in summer you find yourself needing to relieve yourself in a literal box. "It's not that bad," your dirtbag friend who never washes his hands after he pisses anyway tries to convince you. But it is that bad. First off, yes it may be an irrational fear, but these things could get knocked over at ANY MOMENT, and if you are the poor bastard stuck inside, you will be quite literally covered in shit. No amount of hand sanitizer is gonna help with that. And speaking of shit, there is so much of it when you're surrounded by people who are experiencing the seldom-discussed unsexy side effects of MDMA and cocaine a.k.a. diarrhea and a seeming inability to aim. —Manisha Krishnan
Your Bank Account
You waste SO MUCH money in the summer. Whether you're blasting the AC and driving up your electricity bill, or spending as much time as you can outside with friends, you're going to be bleeding dinero like nobody's business. Cabs to escape the heat, drinks to cool yourself down, a change of clothing for when you sweat all of your bodily fluids into your current outfit, drugs to make life less shitty. It all adds up, and frankly, you're not in a position to argue—climate change is here to stay. Think about that next time you're killing the ozone with that DIY campfire you made out of Axe canisters and driftwood. —Jake Kivanc
The "Song of the Summer"
Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding are going to put out a song you will be forced to hear until winter hits, and while you hate it, those Instagram models you started hanging out with sure love it. "Like, the Skrillex remix is soooo hyphy!" —Jake Kivanc
I. Don't. Get. It. What is the big fucking deal about sleeping in a contorted tarp? Like, haven't we evolved by now? We have cabins and cottages and Airbnbs that allow plenty of access to the overrated outdoors. Choosing to sleep in a tent is like saying you still like using dial-up internet. Tents get insanely hot during the day and are freezing at night. If a bear or cougar comes cruising by your campsite and wants to fuck around, a thin sheet of canvas mixed with nylon is not going to stop him. Plus you are literally sleeping on rocks and shit, how is this even a debate!? Camping is never as romantic as you think it's going to be. If you're on a campground, you are not only stuck with your shitty family, but other people's shitty families as well, and cussing out small children you don't know is frowned upon, regardless of how annoying they are with their Kumbayaing. Every part of your day is ten times harder with camping—eating, sleeping, showering, using the bathroom. The only reason you think those dinky hot dogs you just burnt on a stick you found on the ground are "delicious" is because you are so hungry because you don't have a goddamn working stove. —Manisha Krishnan
Sex Without AC
So you think it's a good idea to bring a dude from a beach party home to bang him. It's summer, so fuck it, right? Once you have your clothes off—which, objectively, might be the best part of this whole experience because it's fucking hot out—you become aware of his BO. You open your window, but due to the fact you live in a high-rise, the maximum width it will open is two and a half inches. This is not enough. Nothing is enough. But he's already here, and you're already making out naked, and it's too late.
You know how disgusting it is when a stranger rubs up against you skin to skin when you're at an outdoor concert during the summer? Well just imagine it's their whole body, and instead of a brief moment, you're like hairless rats covered in oil sliding all over each other for 30 grueling, unending minutes. Without fail, he will ask the following inhumane question when he cums prematurely: "Can I stay over babe?" KMS. —Allison Elkin
OK sure, you've seen a lot of coming-of-age teen movies, you've revisited all the episodes of Dawson's Creek several times, so you think you "get" summer romances. Outdoor sex, boozy park dates with the promise of more outdoor sex, the unspoken clause that there are no strings attached, and this brief, sun soaked affair will end just as the cicadas start their own public mating dance. But it's all a disgusting lie. You spent most of May and June hiding your pale body so as soon as Canada Day hits you're thirsty to hook up with someone, anyone, and in your drunken stupidity you sleep with the first guy in a tank top who offers you a cigarette. He's pretty hot so you keep it going until September thinking you'll both ghost each other like adults as soon as patio season is over but you don't because you're lazy and now it's winter and he's stealing a friend's HBO GO account so you're contractually obligated to stick it out. And then suddenly it's Christmas and you'd be a monster to break up with someone over the holidays and then Valentine's Day and wedding season and whoops! Your two-week hookup has turned into in a long-term relationship with a guy named Chad you met standing outside a portapotty who you can't break up with until next summer. —Amil Niazi
At the best of times, riding public transit is an exercise in restraint. But when it's hot out, everyone and their dog—literally—is riding the subway or bus. Parents are hogging up the aisles with their strollers and picnic gear. Young people are "covertly" chugging water bottles of vodka on their way to the park/beach/music festival and screaming "it's lit!" And there is no chance in hell you're finding a seat. To top it all off, everyone is sweating, so you are forced to endure the scent of BO for the duration of your trip. Nightmare. —Manisha Krishnan
I haven't been to a Canadian city that doesn't get a collective hard-on for bar patios during the summer, except probably Vancouver, because I don't think anyone takes drinking seriously there. It's 1,000 percent understandable to want to drink outside on a hot day (or even better when it's a warm night), but a patio is usually the worst way to experience one of the world's greatest pleasures: that is, the experience of drinking in a bar.
Even a halfway decent bar has a controlled climate, a little bit of décor, some inoffensive tunes, and, in the summer, available, comfortable seats. But no, instead, Canadians prefer to line up in 35-degree heat for the privilege of sitting in 35-degree heat in garbage seats, at garbage tables. Don't get me wrong, a great patio is a beautiful unicorn, but the majority of patios are trash, and you deserve better.
Shall I go on about street level patios and their amazing views of busy intersections? How about the concrete floors and the lack of umbrellas for every table, setting up a defacto class system in the heat. You are outside, but you are not allowed to smoke (in most jurisdictions), bars are too cheap to buy some nice outdoor speakers so you are forced to hold conversations instead of yelling over some 15-year-old Strokes single, and where the fuck is your server? Why is their only one server for these 20 tables? If I was inside, I would have a cold drink in my hand, I would not be having this conversation, and I wouldn't have a pounding sun-induced headache.
Drinking is supposed to happen in the dark. —Josh Visser