What I Learned About Humanity as an Airbnb Owner
By: Stephanie Tolk
Tags: Travel, Tourism, The Bad Influence, Real Estate, Airbnb

What I Learned About Humanity as an Airbnb Owner

And it ain’t pretty

Photo: Aubree Plodinec, given to author

Mt. Hood, measuring over 11,000 feet, is about 60 miles from Portland, Oregon in the Cascade Mountain Range. With a ski lift conveying adventurers up a steep glacier, it’s the only mountain in the U.S. with year-round skiing. In mid-July, a visitor to iconic Timberline Lodge can walk the trails, dotted with lupine, in flip flops and make out snowboarders 1,000 feet up gliding down a glacier. (Visitors may also shiver when gazing at the exterior of Timberline Lodge; it served as a set for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining.)

My family owns a log cabin 20 minutes away on the edge of Mt. Hood National Forest that we call Hummingbird Lodge. It’s a modest home with three bedrooms that sits on several forested acres of Douglas fir, giant cedar, and hemlock with an understory of huckleberry, rhododendron, and wild rose.

Having never owned a vacation rental, I embarked on this a new revenue stream as a neophyte. I installed a giant swing, hammocks, and Adirondack chairs, inviting visitors to absorb the peacefulness of nature. Guests come to hike or fish in the summer and engage in snow sports or sledding in the winter, grilling food or soaking in the hot tub afterward.

After more than three years of hosting, I’ve noticed fascinating patterns of human behavior.

Guests who complain preemptively break rules egregiously.

This behavior confounded me for a long time until I recognized a pattern. One type of guest communicates shortly after departure with a minor or odd complaint. They discovered a hand towel under a bed. The muffin tin showed some rust. They couldn’t hear their movie well.

Where a different type of guest would overlook these snags, these guests sound disgruntled and hint strongly that they’d like a refund. (Legitimate complaints might be that the house hadn’t been cleaned or the firewood stocked.)

Invariably, these people distract from their own rule-breaking. While they may have conjured a cunning diversion, they never seem to be smart enough to toss their cigarette butts, pick up their dog’s poo, or hide the evidence of their party (smoking, pets, and parties are all verboten). When I confront them on their behavior, they quietly disappear.

Guests who ask the most questions make the most complaints.

People tend to book Hummingbird Lodge several weeks to months in advance. Most guests have no questions before their arrival. Other guests reach out several times with multiple inquiries. “Do we have to bring our own towels?” “Do you have a crock pot?” “Will the hot tub be warm?” “Do you have salt and pepper?”

Initially, I assumed that inquiring guests were merely excellent planners, though later I learned they tend to be uptight and edgy. Invariably, they find something not up to snuff and complain after their departure, asking for a refund.

Guests hide their failings.

Broken drawer pull concealed in the spice cabinet? Check. Stained towel hidden under the television? Check. Shattered picture frame blamed on the housekeeper? Check.

Luxury is subjective.

Hummingbird Lodge is neither big nor small, neither luxurious nor drab. Furnishings range from IKEA beds (because we could afford them) to a handmade, live-edge Douglas fir dining table with butterfly joints (because my husband could make one).

In the same month, I may get this comment, “The bed was so comfortable! I slept like a baby!” and this comment, “That bed was horrible. My back aches.” One group raves about the well-stocked kitchen while the next group grumbles about the lack of pie dishes. I’ve let go of the notion of pleasing everyone.

Silent guests make the worst guests.

I learned this one the hard way. At the time of booking, a guest may communicate the purpose of their visit. “It’s our anniversary!” “Me and my partner want to get our kids into the woods.” “Meeting my two best girlfriends for some skiing on the mountain.”

One day, I received this note from a new guest, “Having a small get together with my family for mine and my brothers (sic) birthday. I’m turning 25 and he’s turning 26.”

I inquired about the nature of the party twice and didn’t receive a response. A more experienced host would have noticed the red flag.

Oh gosh, where to begin with this one. With the vomit in the hot tub? The shotgun shells and broken vodka bottles in the meadow of moss? The blood on the pillowcase? I could go on.

The majority of my guest groups are respectful, communicative, honest, and thankful for their peaceful experience in the woods. And to those who wish to break rules or request an unsubstantiated refund, know this: humans are far more predictable and far less creative than we imagine ourselves to be.

You may also like