Welcome to Triple XL Key West. I know we call the months between Christmas and Mother’s Day “season,” but I’ve arbitrarily decided to name them the Triple XL. And I’ve conjured six ways for coping with super-sized crowds.

Sure, it happens every year and every year we’re shocked, shocked, I tell you, when shortly before Christmas thousands of visitors and snowbirds pour onto the island with bucket lists in hand. The snowbirds, many of whom long ago wove themselves into the fabric of the island, live like locals for three to six months, bringing with them an exuberance that gives new energy to events, venues and nonprofit boards and organizations.

I love seeing snowbirds return to our church, Peace Covenant Presbyterian. I love that there are lights on in all the homes on our block, that there’s busy to-ing and fro-ing as we share curbside greetings. I love hearing the grandchildren whoop and laugh in the pool next door.

Heck, I even love watching the happy faces of thousands of visitors ambling up and down Duval, Whitehead and Simonton. Well, mostly happy. Teenagers tagging along behind parents tend toward a version of the thousand-yard stare and they kinda trudge rather than amble. That’s teenagers for you. I did the same thing when my parents dragged me along back in the olden days.

Key West depends on these happy travelers to make payroll, pay the rent and pay the taxes and fees, some of which ends up in government coffers to do such things as repair streets, purchase environmentally sensitive land, replenish the beach sand and, well, keep the economy profitable. Much as some of us would like it otherwise, we’re a tourist destination and folks are going to keep coming.

The idea of a Triple XL season occurred to me after Christmas when I had to take one of the Cat 5s to All Animal Clinic. I glanced at the clock, remembered the traffic onslaught and figured I’d better allow three times as long to get from Key West to Stock Island.

And there it was. Triple XL, an apt description of Key West in high season. Everything takes three times as long. There are three times as many people. Three times as many cars, bikes, scooters, golf carts, and not to be forgotten, dogs. The only thing that isn’t three times is the restaurant tab, but that’s likely because that bill has been rising steadily since Covid-19. I mean, how much more than $17 can one charge for avocado toast? It’s a mystery how families can afford to eat when they visit Key West. Maybe they don’t. Maybe they bring along bologna sandwiches.

Maybe this year’s deluge is because we had two weeks of double-day, midweek holidays that allowed for extended vacationing. Maybe it isn’t worse than last year. Maybe I just like to complain, but I’m sure it’s worse than 10 years ago. Either way, the sheer congestion of Key West is Triple XL size.

Coping with super-sized crowds: 6 ways to beat the crush

So how do we cope?

For all that’s holy, don’t go to the grocery store between 10:30 a.m., and, say, 2:30 p.m. Not only do you get the locals lunch crowd running errands or grabbing a sandwich, but every single vacation rental gaggle is clogging the aisles and arguing over how many bags of chips and vegan items they need. It’s not polite to run them down even accidentally. I love the parents who keep their kids (literally) on a leash or at least keep them in tow with hands on the cart. Speaking of carts, grab yours in the parking lot because the odds are against your finding one inside.

Forget getting across town in 10 minutes. It’ll take 30. Take Flagler, not North Roosevelt, even if it means you gotta come back into town through the Triangle. At least there are stop lights.

Turn right with traffic, not left across it. I guarantee that working your way around the island with right turns may seem to take longer, but do you really want to sit for 10 minutes swiveling your head back and forth before gunning the engine to venture into a turn lane and praying there’s no e-bike bearing down on your blind side?

Eschew (don’t you love that word?) restaurants that don’t take reservations. I’m sorry if I offend some of my off-season favorites, but no island eatery is worth queuing up for 30 minutes to an hour.

Drive SLOW like grandpa might. That way you stand a chance of braking before you slam into the oblivious parent with the triple stroller who just walked off the curb without looking, while the other parent checks the GPS to see if they’re anywhere close to the Southernmost Point buoy.

Keep your windows rolled up. That way you can swear as loudly as you want at the ungodly traffic, the idiot walkers and wobbly bikers and the bad dream of Triple XL season — without an altercation with some dumb nut with an attitude and a gun. Happy season, y’all.