Last year when the essential oils people descended upon me and nearly destroyed my home, I decided that I would take a possibly-permanent break from Airbnb.
I changed my listing to no longer allow people to automatically book the place. Instead they could send inquiries and I could decide from their picture whether or not they looked like they practice witchcraft.
This was going fine. I got very few inquiries for several months, and I mostly declined the inquiries for one reason or another.
And then last week I got a message from Bill and Brenda. (Names have been changed).
"Hello. We are driving to Salt Lake City from Idaho for a small procedure. Please let is know if your space is available."
I was intrigued about the procedure and Bill and Brenda looked to be about my parents' age so I thought what the hey, and I accepted their booking.
Showing posts with label Airbnb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Airbnb. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Personal Assistant: Apply Now
One of the reasons you shouldn't be friends with me is I will turn you into my personal assistant.
Look. It's not like the job doesn't pay. It pays exceptionally well.
Not money. No. It doesn't pay money. But what it pays is much more valuable than money.
Take, for instance, yesterday when Matt texted me 17 pictures of a bleeding mole on his back and asked me if I thought it might be "stage 7" cancer.
A normal person would have ignored these texts. Or at least educated him on how many stages there are. And then blocked his number before he sends more close-up shots of his least appealing body parts.
Not me. Matt is on my staff and so he is entitled to his salary.
So I texted him back and fed his fears. Because that's what he wants. Not someone to talk him off the ledge. But someone to ask him when his appointment is with the dermatologist and then tell him that next Monday is probably too late. Then I forwarded all of the pictures to Skylar without any context.
Look. It's not like the job doesn't pay. It pays exceptionally well.
Not money. No. It doesn't pay money. But what it pays is much more valuable than money.
Take, for instance, yesterday when Matt texted me 17 pictures of a bleeding mole on his back and asked me if I thought it might be "stage 7" cancer.
A normal person would have ignored these texts. Or at least educated him on how many stages there are. And then blocked his number before he sends more close-up shots of his least appealing body parts.
Not me. Matt is on my staff and so he is entitled to his salary.
So I texted him back and fed his fears. Because that's what he wants. Not someone to talk him off the ledge. But someone to ask him when his appointment is with the dermatologist and then tell him that next Monday is probably too late. Then I forwarded all of the pictures to Skylar without any context.
Tuesday, September 26, 2017
Return of the DoTerra
I really thought my essential oils deal was going to be a two-part series. I should have known better when I entitled the last post on the topic "Essential Oils Strike Back."
That ain't the end. This crap doesn't conclude with the Strike Back. I don't know my Star Wars very well, but I do know enough to realize that there's a whole other thing coming after the strike back.
Some time passed and I desperately began airing out my house, performing black magic on it, and letting Duncan poop inside because that would be better than the stench my hoard of women left me.
And I started feeling like things were getting back to normal.
I had been watching with interest to see whether or not they would leave me a review. I was aware, based on the two or three times the main one rolled her eyes at me and stomped down the stairs, that they weren't the happiest guests I've ever had.
And look. I didn't take it personally that they didn't seem happy in my house. This woman was loco And I've had dozens of other people stay with me and leave perfectly positive reviews. I even had a couple return a month after their first visit and stay with me a second time because they liked it so much the first go-around (probably because of my hair TBH).
That ain't the end. This crap doesn't conclude with the Strike Back. I don't know my Star Wars very well, but I do know enough to realize that there's a whole other thing coming after the strike back.
Some time passed and I desperately began airing out my house, performing black magic on it, and letting Duncan poop inside because that would be better than the stench my hoard of women left me.
And I started feeling like things were getting back to normal.
I had been watching with interest to see whether or not they would leave me a review. I was aware, based on the two or three times the main one rolled her eyes at me and stomped down the stairs, that they weren't the happiest guests I've ever had.
And look. I didn't take it personally that they didn't seem happy in my house. This woman was loco And I've had dozens of other people stay with me and leave perfectly positive reviews. I even had a couple return a month after their first visit and stay with me a second time because they liked it so much the first go-around (probably because of my hair TBH).
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Essential Oils Are Killing Me
The other day I tweeted this:
I don't know what they are. I don't know what they do. I don't know if they save or kill the dolphins. I. Just. Don't. Know.
Everything you read in this post might offend the rosy grandma scent right out of your house. And I invite you to tell me so.
But not until next week. Put it on your calendar. In one week you can send me an angry email about how I blasphemed a sacred multi-level marketing order.
This week, I want to just complain at you about essential oils without an ounce of opposition from you. IT'S MY RIGHT AS A TECHNICALLY-MILLENNIAL.
So you can fully understand the angst in the above tweet I must give you some background.
Look. I don't actually know anything about essential oils except that they are oils and they are ESSENTIAL.I have 4 Airbnb guests staying with me. They are in town for an essential oils conference so my entire house smells like everyone's grandma.— Eli McCann (@EliMcCann) September 6, 2017
I don't know what they are. I don't know what they do. I don't know if they save or kill the dolphins. I. Just. Don't. Know.
Everything you read in this post might offend the rosy grandma scent right out of your house. And I invite you to tell me so.
But not until next week. Put it on your calendar. In one week you can send me an angry email about how I blasphemed a sacred multi-level marketing order.
This week, I want to just complain at you about essential oils without an ounce of opposition from you. IT'S MY RIGHT AS A TECHNICALLY-MILLENNIAL.
So you can fully understand the angst in the above tweet I must give you some background.
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