Airbnb Mistep: The Legend of Salt Foot

I’ve only cried over the way the AirBnB suite was left once. I’d been messaging with Mrs. Salt Foot pretty heavily up to the booking. She was coming in town for her daughter’s college graduation. She needed two, maybe three nights. She would have at least two cars that needed off-street parking. She would have…

I’ve only cried over the way the AirBnB suite was left once.

I’d been messaging with Mrs. Salt Foot pretty heavily up to the booking. She was coming in town for her daughter’s college graduation. She needed two, maybe three nights. She would have at least two cars that needed off-street parking. She would have her daughter and husband with her, or at least for a combination of the nights. She may also have her grown daughter stay with them (mind you, this is a 350 square foot apartment with a bar instead of a kitchen and a love seat instead of a sofa). She signed the initial inquiry with “We are tidy :)”

I checked all the items off the list, left extra linens, pillows and an air mattress for extra guests and walked away in hopes of a lovely stay for the proud family celebrating their recent grad.

It was December. We live in a region where Lake Effect snow is a real thing. Therefore, salted steps and sidewalks are a real thing. It was extra snowy that week and looking back, maybe the smiley face after her salutation, “We are tidy :)” was an effort to tip me off that she was joking. That Mrs. Salt Foot and hers were indeed, not tidy.

Enter SALT FOOT.

As I walked in the suite there was a haphazardly deflated air mattress near the door, and the floor, the rug and oh… that poor floor… was covered in salty snow melt off. And not just the living room area, it was tracked into the bedroom, bathroom, hallway… it would take some real work to make your wet boots go this far. And, WHO WEARS WET BOOTS INSIDE? ON A RUG? The floors I could handle, but the fact that my rug was matted with dirty, salty snow residue and I had another guest coming in two hours was too much. So I cried.

After wiping the (ironically) salty tears of rage from my eyes, I washed the floors. Twice. I gathered the sullen linens and stashed the once beautiful and now abused rug in the basement. To keep up appearances, I grabbed a pretty white shag rug from Little G’s sweet nursery and laid it in it’s place. Finally, I shut the door and contemplated how, or if, or how and if… should I review Mrs. Salt Foot and her very untidy family?

Willow & Twig