Visitors often say that my house would not look out of place in an interiors magazine.
In fact, the beautiful three-bedroom house in the Cotswolds is my pride and joy, and will eventually become my pension fund.
You might think I’m completely crazy for letting strangers in and having to stay close by at my mum’s house, but the £4,000 a week I get paid through Airbnb sweetens the deal quite a bit.
Still, that’s not to say that renting my home to paying guests doesn’t have its drawbacks.
As a friend told me four years ago when I first started hosting, if people pay to stay in my home, they will use it as they see fit.
In my experience, guests are either a total dream or a total nightmare.
“Some families are amazing, but I can safely say that changing sheets can be a scary experience. I always wear latex gloves for this.”
I have received very nice feedback from visitors, who exclaim “What a wonderful host and what a special house!”. I am not at all surprised. I like to think that I go the extra mile; I do everything from answering the initial enquiry email to welcoming my guests personally. I am available outside of working hours for anything they might need and I do general cleaning myself after they have left (but more on that later).
So when guests abuse my home, I take it personally. I’m not a fancy businessman with a bunch of rental properties – this is my home and my livelihood.
I’ve traveled all over the world, and whenever I’ve stayed in people’s homes as an Airbnb guest, I’ve always treated them with respect. Naively, I expected people to do the same with my home, but I quickly got rid of that idea.
After a family stayed, I went in to clean up and was initially happy to see that my house was left in a seemingly spotless state.
That was until I discovered a gruesome colony of snot that a child had spread on one of the beds. It had hardened and I had to resort to removing it with my bare hands.
And that’s not even the worst of bodily fluids. Take for example the man who left all my hand towels so hard they could be smashed with a hammer. They went straight into the trash. And there’s no doubt that changing sheets can be a creepy experience. For this, I always wear latex gloves.
On another occasion, the master bedroom was flooded because the bathroom door had been left open. The guest who was leaving claimed that he had left the window open and that the rain had come in. The costs incurred were deducted from the guest’s deposit, which he eventually admitted.
A businessman left a frying pan on in the kitchen and the neighbors called me because the smoke alarm went off.
Some guests are really strange. I’m thinking of the man who threw all his socks and underwear in the trash at the end of his stay. I use translucent trash bags so I know what’s consumed in my house. I still have no idea why he did it.
When the guests leave, I get straight to cleaning. I do this myself, as it’s very difficult to find a professional cleaner at every turn. I make sure I’m quick, as a quick check usually means I can catch things that have been forgotten before they’ve gone too far.
A guest left a classic car in the driveway after checking out. That’s a pretty big loss. But when I sheepishly told him that he had forgotten his vehicle, he told me that he had always planned to pick it up the next day after his stay was over. Thanks for asking!
‘Luckily, Airbnb gives me the option to not accept ‘instant bookings,’ where guests can book their stay without my permission.’
In a dream world, people would be shaved from head to toe before crossing my threshold. The shower drain is the worst. I resign myself to having to pick out hairballs the size of rats as part of my routine. It’s a pretty intense workout.
Used condoms on the lawn, nail clippings in a neat pile under the couch — I’ve seen it all. I’ve dumped expressed breast milk that was in a Ziploc bag into the refrigerator and nearly screamed at the sight of what I thought was a small mammal that had died behind the couch. It turned out to be a pile of discarded hair extensions.
All this despite the fact that I have done extensive research before allowing people to stay. Fortunately, Airbnb gives me the option to not accept “instant bookings,” where guests can book their stay without my permission. And I am refurbishing a garden room so I can stay on site in the future while guests stay, so I can keep a closer eye on them.
I’m very picky. First, I look at other hosts’ reviews. If they don’t have all-positive reviews (or none at all), then I say “no.”
To be honest, I turn away more tourists than I accept. No pets, no parties, no barbecues, and smoking is strictly prohibited.
If they’re not clear on why they want to book, I ask them to the point that CIA interrogators would be proud of. I want to know exactly why they’re visiting my area. Who are the participants? How old are they? When will they check in and when will they check out? I want a profile of who will be staying, and I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I’m more than willing to go back and forth until they convince me that they’re not going to trash my house, though of course you can never be sure. It takes me a long time to hit the “confirm” button.
But don’t be nervous around hosts like me. We’re not hotel managers; these are our homes, which we love and have worked hard to build. People get exasperated by my questions and have accused me of being too nosy. But what are you trying to hide? Besides, if I know more about you, I can be a much more helpful host.
I’m not even too strict with the rules. My requests are totally reasonable. Close the windows, turn off everything (don’t forget the coffee machine!). You’d be surprised how many people go out for a walk with the place lit up like a Christmas tree.
Of course, one gets complaints (one visitor was furious that he didn’t have a knife sharpener at home), and I treat the whiners and curmudgeons who leave a bad review with a carefully worded response, sending them firmly back to their mailbox.
At the end of the day, if you don’t like my rules, then you know what to do. You can I’m on vacation, but this is my home.
As told to Samantha Brick
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