Vampire Weekend(s), or 5 Reasons to Never Rent your Home to Millennial (Republicans)…

Aftermath: counting the damage

Aftermath: counting the damage

(continued from previous)…

Somehow I survived the night and entered my house at ten in the morning—normal checkout time—and caught the last man out, high fives for sympathetic magic and I surveying the interior for any possible damage—none. I dodged a bullet. But what about the other booking that I have pending in two weeks? He already indicated that it wasn’t the two people as originally indicated, but in fact more—’no more than ten or twelve’ he assured me. What should I do? 

But that’s a glitch right there, and cause for concern. So I e-mail him and inquire the final number of lodgers and initiate my pitch that if the plan is to party, then he should make other arrangements. There is an awkward e-mail silence of several days, and I am at the point of canceling his booking, when he finally responds that there will be twelve people, and that they’re all ‘young professionals’ (as opposed to riff-raff, by implication).

Kids need their sleep

Kids need their sleep

Okay, so leave it at that then, with reservations, pun intended, until a potential buyer for the house flies down from Alaska to take a look, as a local buyer ups their interest. Did I mention that my house is for sale? This gives me justification to change the terms of booking, so that’s what I do: tell my potential guest(s) that I’ll need to stay on the premises, i.e. IN THE HOUSE, and that if they want to maintain the booking, then it will have to be as a normal B & B-type stay, NOT a house rental, with exclusive occupancy. And, most importantly—NO PARTIES.

And, as incentive to maintain the booking, I stipulate that only I will have access to the house, no other guests, and that I’ll only charge for the three rooms of the house, a two-hundred dollar reduction on the total cost of the twelve hundred dollar rental, to be refunded at checkout. Agreed. We’re all set. Still, there’s time for my potential guests to make other arrangements if they want to. They don’t.

As the day rolls around, all seems fine. Four people check in the first day, then more the next. Guys play golf and gals go shop—seems normal. Third day, the action heats up, as unknown players show up with beer and whiskey. Eventually they all go out, and I go to sleep, only to be awakened by the sound of an air pump inflating an air mattress after midnight. Hmmm. ‘Plus one’–okay.  Then there’s another ‘guest’ crashing on the couch. But it’s only when the noise increases next morning that I became increasingly suspicious, taking pains to get a look at what I suspect.

Rough night...

Rough night…

Yep, they’re partying down at nine in the a.m., interrupted only be my increasing attentions. So they leave and I survey the damage. It looks like Armageddon, beer cans and whiskey bottles and half-drunk beverages lying all around like time-bombs awaiting a tick of the tock. A couple of lingerers are still malingering, but I manage to take pictures before cleaning up. It’s disgusting, and I’m feeling sick. Now I start counting the hours and minutes until I can reclaim my house, twenty-four hours and counting, none too soon for me.

I write like a madman to keep myself busy, passing my time as best I can and hoping for the best, now that I seem to have lost control of my house. They ignored my prohibitions against partying, merely moving it into the rooms and pretending I’m deaf dumb and blind. Too bad they didn’t clean up that mess, instead of leaving it for me to do. That’s what I told the principal guest when he asked for his two hundred dollars next day at checkout. Don’t mess with me, m*****f*****, I eat guys like you for supper…

You mean we can’t drink alcohol?”

Don’t b*llsh*t me, J****, you know what I mean, and we both know what a party is. Those were the terms and you haven’t complied. Simply moving the party into the bedrooms is not what I meant and you know that. What I saw in those rooms yesterday morning was disgusting beyond belief, like junkies in New York subway tubes. I hope you never have to see your home desecrated in such fashion. I’ll send you pictures in case you’ve forgotten. If you want to dispute the case, I’ll see you in court. Now go; we’re through here.”Ouch.

The room up above

The room up above

Still, it’s not worth it, not at any cost, older but wiser now, and a bit at a loss. In all fairness, most ‘vacation rentals’ are absentee affairs, where the owner and renter never meet, and an insurance agreement is the ultimate arbiter of record. And that’s fine, if it’s just a throwaway house in someone else’s neighborhood. But what if it’s yours? Welcome to America Generica, throwaway houses in throwaway neighborhoods in throwaway cities—no thanks. Still I’ll survive, and so will the house. We’ll live another day, and the sun will also rise.

Epiphany: I feel bad, really bad, abused, cheap, violated, not so much from having nightmare ‘guests’ as from having to play the bad guy in response. I don’t enjoy it. It’s not what I am; it’s not what I do. But I don’t like being taken advantage of, either, so I have to play that role sometimes. I even had elaborate plans to write a bad check on a closed bank account, just to avoid the confrontation—glad I didn’t. Now I realize the ultimate conundrum: this guy wouldn’t be caught dead staying in a hostel, and that’s ultimately what I have; that’s what I do.

He spat in my face. He’s a downtown finance boy from Denver, a ‘proud Republican’ according to his Twitter feed—shoulda’ known. He’s too good for hostels. They’re young professionals, not riff-raff. And he’ll be the first to go when the whole system crashes one day soon. He probably doesn’t even know how to plant potatoes, much less use a framing square. Hopefully someone will show him. He doesn’t represent the hope of his generation. He represents the problem. Bring me the riff-raff, and they’ll be welcome…

p.s. Of course the real desecration is the consumption of Budweiser; in my house! At east they had the good taste, and good sense, to forego the MD 20-20…