The big dog was waiting for me in the kitchen. I did not know his or her name, breed, or temperament. I only knew that it was a shock to see a dog there.
"Aaaaaahh!" I screamed, racing into the downstairs bathroom, calling out to the owner who was not visible: "Get your dog! Leash your dog!"
A guy comes out, looking pissed at me. "What? Why are you yelling at me?"
"Because your dog is not on a leash!"
He starts waving his finger at me, "Shut up, shut up, lady. Dogs are allowed here. Shut up!"
Just another fun day when you are, more or less, living at Airbnbs. I spoke to the host, who seemed great at first. I told her I'd been bitten in the rear by a dog at 16, after leaving the old folks' home, where I'd gone to play piano.
"That's awful," she said, showing real compassion. "I don't blame you at all for yelling."
Then today she sent me the text this guy sent, accusing me of yelling at him, demanding half his money back, even blaming me for why he forgot his dog food. It was nutso. I then had had it. The host said it was I who was escalating, then weirdly wrote that I was like "family" and she could not wait to have me back.
Airbnb gave me a $50 coupon, but never gave me a straight answer about their dog policy. First they diverted my attention to their therapy and service pets policy, then sent me a message about their general pet policy, but never a link as requested.
In other Airbnbs recently, I've been falsely accused of spitting in the tub (didn't do it, but honestly, it's a TUB), slamming my door/walking too hard, keeping the
heat up too high, leaving a hair (gosh!) on the countertop in the (gosh!) bathroom, etc. etc. etc. I am realizing as I write this that I am worn out. As I am trying to decide whether to make the leap to D.C. to attack my job search, I am also deciding when this precious Airbnb life will end. I say it ends by May 1. By May 1 I deserve to be in an apartment and in a good job.
Yes, I did meet a cute man at an Airbnb in Hartford, where pets were allowed. He'd just moved east with his cat, named after an eating implement (fork, spoon, or knife, you decide). Now, I was fine with the pet policy where he was concerned, but you know very well if said cat were sitting on the dining room table, and Mr. Dog Owner saw him he'd scream holy hell to the host. Dog owners hate cats; cat owners hate dogs. Not entirely true, but true ENOUGH. (At an Airbnb run by a Yale professor, I fell madly in love with a cat named after an 18th century historical figure, to the point that his owner calls me kitty's "girlfriend".)
For this reason, I suggest Airbnb come up with two policies: one for cats, one for dogs. Limit their visits to in-room only. They must be leashed or caged when exiting the rooms. (Today's excuse by the girlfriend, for why jerk boyfriend was telling me to shut up, shut up! was that they were leaving...O..K...)
Sayonara, it's been nice, don't let the door hit you on the way out. I'll write a book one day. For now, I am seeing about my Falls Church booking for next week. I know this homeowner and like his place. No surprise dogs in the kitchen...so far.
Photos: Top, the author in one of her Airbnb stays (where she cranked up the heat too high) and Wikimedia Commons Images: By Dr. Manfred Herrmann Allgemeiner Deutscher Rottweiler-Klub (ADRK) e.V. http://www.ADRK.de - Image:Rottweiler.jpg, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1052940
Comments
Post a Comment