Dangerous Compassions

airbnbs we have known

true love

Thinking about the airbnbs we have known.  Our first time was back when we visited Olympia, Washington six and a half years ago.  We got the small studio apartment of a flight attendant.  The idea was that she rented out her space to people while she was elsewhere.

The apartment building felt sketch, and I really didn’t like the flight attendant’s space.  It was tiny and had all her stuff in it, including her bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door.  I felt like an interloper, even though we had paid a pretty penny.  In fact, I think I took zero pictures of the place, just because I felt like I was intruding already.


I thought I would never airbnb again, that first experience was so poor.  The Olympia trip was just painful, visiting a friend who was acting weird.  Sometimes it seemed like he didn’t want us there, which was confusing.  Why didn’t he just say not to come?  He gave mixed messages.  He bought a book for me that he loved and wanted me to read.  So wait, didn’t that mean he liked me?

We were friends for years, and I should have pulled away from him then. Turns out there was girlfriend drama behind the scenes that he wasn’t talking about–I heard much later.

It doesn’t have to be about good people and bad people; it can just be that I don’t enjoy being treated like that.  The challenge is how emotional pain is mixed together with other parts of friendship that I need.  I try and try to get the good without the bad.  Friendship mystifies me.

paper towels

A big commonality of airbnbs we have known is lack of paper towels.  Yes, there will be a first roll, usually.  Often that’s it.  If we stay somewhere multiple days, we’re out of luck.  We have to get our own.

That fifth wheel we stayed at in Pahrump, doing medical tourism, there were locks on the cabinets and signs all over the place saying what to do and what not to do.  Open the vent while showering–how to work the ac.  THIS MEDICINE CABINET HAS NOTHING IN IT.  DO NOT OPEN! was annoying, reading that sign multiple times a day.

And running out of paper towels, knowing there were probably paper towels in one of the locked cabinets.  But we are irresponsible airbnbers who can’t be trusted with multiple rolls of paper towels.  Ugh!  If we asked, maybe they would have deemed us worthy of a second roll.  But we didn’t want to talk to those people.

They had a little greenhouse with weed growing–I tried not to look too closely.  And those two angel dogs.  It was a hard trip, all those confederate flags.  Poor Ming was uncomfortable.

pots and pans

Why do people give such shitty pots and pans to their airbnb?  Did they find these by a dumpster, say, “Good enough,” and call it a day?  Or are a lot of people making do with such horrible cooking tools, as the norm?  Wow!

I love to cook, and I need to because what restaurant can give me what I need?  My nutritional needs are particular.  But I need decent pots and pans.  Simple, small saucepans are ok, for boiling a sweet potato or making a small amount of split pea soup.  But decent frying pans are not optional, for sure.

If I was trying to use such terrible pots and pans, I would give up.  I feel sorry for people who don’t cook and can’t make exactly what they want.

airbnbs we have known

I could think of more to complain about, but I will spare you, dear reader.  It would be cool to have a website with real-er reviews.  The reviews on the airbnb website are inflated.

The one horrible airbnb experience we had, I was afraid of that guy.  I wanted nothing to do with him, to the point of not even reviewing.  We were glad to escape with our lives!

The one we’re in now is so beautiful that I cried, when we arrived here.  It was an overwhelmed feeling of “I don’t deserve this.”  The landlord left mints on the pillows, and blueberry bread she’d baked.  Wow.  I tasted it–it tasted delicious.

I cried also because I wanted to share it with someone I loved and lost.  A different friend I held onto for too long despite the pain.  Every good thing, I still want to give to him.  The feelings are ok, as long as I don’t act on them.  I can feel however I feel.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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