This was a surprisingly nice apartment in a somewhat worn 2-flat in Rogers Park. Best features: comfy beds. Nice living room, rudimentary kitchen, and only a few blocks to Devon Market, a real Chicago treasure of Eastern European and Middle Eastern foods. Now if the kitchen was only more inviting, one might be tempted to experiment.
Be aware, however, that this AirBnb is managed by an outside company called StringBnb out of Dallas, and they have their own systems that exist outside of AirBnb…which I thought was a no-no. Emails from them would have helpful recommendations for places to eat, shows to see—in Dallas, 1500 miles away.
Check-in was the real bummer; one of those Dallas company emails sent incomplete instructions to the uncommon electronic keypads, then hid the detailed check-in info as an attachment at the bottom of the page below the garage opener instructions. (Not having a car, I didn’t read those. Dumb me.) So imagine standing on a strange street in Chicago, family members rolling their eyes at me, as I’m talking to someone in a call center (in Dallas? In Singapore? Not clear.) Twenty minutes later, call center lady reveals the trick that lets us in—a step left out of the quick-start instructions provided in Airbnb.
Pardon the rant, but wasn’t there a time that Airbnb’s were real people’s apartments, not some real estate scheme? Now that’s not the case necessarily, and Airbnb is not exactly standing up for their original stated principles: real people sharing their real homes in real places at affordable rates. This perfectly fine apartment is set up as if no real person ever stayed overnight. Where are the cabinet drawers for my clothes in the bedrooms? Why was the all-particle- board furniture in the nice-looking dining room only partly assembled? (Fortunately, I had a bike tool that could tighten the loose screws, but the wobbly chairs were a clue that no one ever sat in them before we did.) As is common, silverware was several levels below even Ikea, dishes were a shade above disposable, and a few cups matched, but not all. The floors seemed new, as did the laminate kitchen floor. The bathroom looked like Home Depot’s finest—brand new. There were two coffee machines of different types, with coffee supplied for only one of them. Jarringly, bold silver 72-point signs adorned every door in the place proclaiming NO SMOKING NO VAPING. (I think the point was made at the entrance door; is there a need to repeat it 6 more times?)
Maybe my inner old codger is getting carried away, and I’m not saying this attractive apartment is not a perfecly serviceable, comfortable place to hang out, but it’s also an example of the commodification of what was once a clever and joyful idea: the original —and now mostly lost—Airbnb.