The day that I offered to write a post for this holiday celebration, I created a list of possible topics. Clearly choosing the 25th was a mistake. All my good ideas have already been explored! What to do? I think that I will tell a "bad" host story.
My listing went live at the end of May 2016. My first available night was June 21st. Unlike many hosts, I had worked in hospitality before, both in an upscale hotel setting and at a quaint Vermont B&B. For whatever reason, one of my gifts is hospitality. Now, this is not a gift that I have treasured. I would prefer a gift for language, or higher mathematics, or any number of more interesting subjects. It is useful if you are going to have an AirBNB in your home. So I was ready. The rooms were rearranged for their new purpose. Furniture was procured or moved into the space. Sheets and towels were ready. All I needed was guests!
It turns out that opening a listing at the beginning of the "high"season is really a good thing! The AirBNB chirp was constant. I became like one of Pavlov's dogs, jumping up to respond to the chirp no matter what else was going on. Within a week, I was booked for three full months. One of my earliest inquiries was from a young woman who was starting medical school on August 1st, and wanted to bring her parents to the white coat ceremony. She had been living in Boston for the past year, but had gone home for the summer. Could they have four people for the first three nights until she moved into her dorm, one more than my limit? Could they arrive at 1:00am, long after my normal check in time? She hit several of my soft spots without even knowing it, and I agree to both requests. This family communicated well. We created a self check-in routine– I would leave the door unlocked and the lights on. Once they arrived they would leave their heavy bags on the first floor and lock up before heading up to their rooms.
As I reviewed the room in the afternoon, I was filled with pride, bordering on vanity. There were extra pillows on the bed for the extra girl. The breads were displayed perfectly in the basket. The proper number of plates, mugs and bowls were set in perfect order. The yogurts in the fridge all faced forward and the cute little milk bottle and its cow seemed rather welcoming. It was perfect!
I sent one last message to them noting that their plane was delayed and sending them wishes for a safe trip. I then crawled into bed and fell deep asleep.
Around 5:00 am, I was woken by what sounded like rocks hitting my windows. Rocks! In the city! I went to my office and gasped. There had been 15 phone calls from San Francisco! And then in my sleep-induced stupor... OMG! I ran downstairs and peered through the front door window. My guests, this nice family, were sleeping on the front porch, spread out on their own towels, while the father sat upright watching over his family. I had locked the door! My phone turns off at 11, so I didn't know there was a problem. My stomach sunk. What can you say at 5:30 in the morning to a family that has spent hours on a front porch? Of course I apologized. We brought in their 15 suitcases. I took them upstairs and did not give them the normal breezy tour. They closed their doors and I went to the bathroom to vomit. Never, ever, ever had I imagined such a scenario. These people had looked like the Syrian refugees I had just seen in Istanbul.
I paced the house for hours. What can you say? How can you apologize enough? My brain went to a very dark hole and I just didn't see how I could fix any of this.
The father descended around 2:00 pm. He thanked me for their breakfast and for the tea. He expressed great gratitude to the taxi driver who had tried to help them. He recapped their evening's adventures including the delayed flight. And, at some point during this conversation I realized, I had been forgiven. The mother was a bit tougher to win over, but even she warmed up as the week went on. The night of the white coat ceremony, their final night in Boston, I invited them to dinner. I ordered some grilled meats from my best local Halal eatery. I made tons of salads, and hummus, and yogurt dips. There was laughter and finally someone mentioned the front porch, but it was a joke; banter if you will. After dinner, I was ready to serve some orange-almond cakes when the Mother asked if she could make some tea. She reviewed my tea selection and chose one. And then cheerfully said, "Now if I were home, I would add some cardamon seeds." I put some before her. "Now if I were home, I would grind these in a mortar." That also appeared. "Of course, if I were home, I would add some cinnamon stick." I pulled out three varieties for her to choose from. "Now, at home I add a bit of saffron." And that appeared as well. This was the most delicious tea, but what was really special was enjoying our cakes with tea with a family who had such large hearts that they had forgiven me for making them sleep on a porch.
Every year, in June, this young woman calls. She comes over to tell me about her studies and research. I make her the same tea. She claims that it is as good as her mother's, but I know better.
[What did I learn? Some people are better people than I am. Do NOT lock the door for late arrivals, and when you have a late arrival, do not have your phone on silence. Finally, have AirBNB's phone number in your phone's favorite's lists so you get a different ring.]
I am forever grateful to this amazing family. They taught me what gracious really means.
