Hey, this is easily the worst airbnb I ever stayed at. Let me count the ways.
The guesthouse we’re staying at has the same address as the main house. That was confusing. The listing is full of irrelevant and untrue info, like specifications of a water purifier that’s no longer here, but lacks basic needed info, like the address thing.
When we arrived, the tv was on in here–loud. A commercial played for weight loss, as I struggled to turn it off. I felt the way I feel when a gif is repeating on my phone, that same panicked make it stop feeling.
When we first got here, there was a mosquito on my hand in the bathroom, which I killed. Since then, Ming has been bitten a few times. One was buzzing by my ear just now. How are they getting in, or are they breeding in here? Yuck!
In the bath rug. I don’t want to learn about their lives right now!
Ming stomped and missed.
old exercise equipment
Depressing yard sale is not the vibe I’m looking for, in an airbnb, or anything!
old gilt-edged Bibles
Don’t really need that either.
weird bathroom requirements
There’s no toilet paper and instead a bidet / spray water thing. I’m all for trying new things, but not in an enforced way.
The sign on the wall says something about harm to tile, to sit or kneel while peeing, and treating tile “like your finest China.” Like I ever had China, let alone the finest.
Dude’s way too into how people pee.
Hurts my hips, to sleep.
large ’80s couch
I don’t like couches to begin with. They are not the type of mysterious I enjoy. They feel very dirty. Ming has an ocd problem with couches, and I took on his problem. This huge one seems simply sad.
I could go on. The dining room chairs have a weird slope to the seat, so my legs lose circulation. Ming suggested I put a pillow, which helps. Thank you, sweetheart.
The blinds in the living room don’t close all the way, so I have to wear clothes if I go to the kitchen.
This place is super creepy, and I was skeezed out our first few hours here, asking Ming to lock all the doors, afraid of being attacked by a homicidal clown. Where we live, we could be killed by a robber, stray gang bullet, drunk driver, cop, or street dog. But I’m not afraid, at home. I was scared, here.
The landlord woke me up when I was sleeping in the afternoon, after I messaged him we didn’t need anything. We didn’t come here to socialize with him!
It reminds me of a bad JC Penny’s photography set from the 1980s, with mosquitoes, and too much Jesus.
I realize now that airbnb ratings and reviews are rather worthless. Maybe it’s like ebay, where someone has to give a five star, sort of. If you give anything less, you’re doing an unforgivable harm, regardless of how the goods are.
My goal was to do some writing, but I can’t sit very long, because of the chairs. The old, gray carpet in the bedroom is gross. My feet are pissed off about it.
The only good thing here is the piano. It needs to be tuned, but it’s very pretty.