Let's be a Vacation Rental Property

I am the sea shell art work in the bathroom.

I'm the missing corkscrew.

I'm the pile of board games that no one has touched since 1975

I'm the utensils drawer. With three spoons, 2 forks and one butter knife.

I'm the Mr. Coffee 12 Cup Coffee Maker, White - $15 at Walgreens

I’m the telltale stain on the microfiber-covered ottoman.

I'm the original Nintendo, sitting on the top shelf of the stylish 70s oak bookcase. I'm guaranteed to give your children hours of enjoyment.

I’m the unopened jar of Stonewall Kitchen blueberry preserves left in the fridge. The owners leave me there because I’m upscale and they hate to throw out perfectly good food. The renters don’t want to be the first to open a jar of something that doesn’t belong to them, even though we have been assured that if it’s in the fridge, it’s okay to use. (Lemons, tonic water and gherkins keep me company.)

I’m the lint trap. I will not be emptied, and will be layers of lint and sand.

I'm the guest sign in book with rave reviews all written by the host.

I'm the four remote controls on the living room coffee table. No one knows which one does what.

I'm Scott McGillivray, jerking off a load while waiting for filming of my rental property show to resume.

I'm the hidden cameras.

I'm the washer and dryer, unfortunately situated in the scary garage/basement area.

I'm the methadone clinic across the street that the listing conveniently forgot to mention.

I am the magnets on the fridge advertising local businesses.

I am the five year old magazines on the coffee table.

I am also the stack of menus in the kitchen drawer, mostly to places that are no longer open.

I am the extremely uncomfortable sofa bed in the living room.

I'm "the smell."

I'm the 70s wood paneling headboard that clearly has several jizz splatters on it

I'm Palm Springs Mike.

JESUS PEOPLE!! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT USING COASTERS? THIS IS A RENTAL!

I am the light switch that doesn't seem to turn anything on or off.

I'm the owner of the vacation unit and I'm tired of the guests breaking the lock on the owner's cupboard to go through my shit.

I am the cleaning person who has 3 hours every Saturday to clean and sanitize 25 properties.

I'm the turd that is ALWAYS floating in the pool at the end of a visit

I'm the broken down, rusty bicycle in the garage. No one wants to ride me.

I'm the salesbottom customer service queen at the rental agency, who makes innuendoes about your visit.

No one wants to ride ME, either.

I am the awful, old, plastic covered twin sized spring mattress that’s going to ruin your back.

I’m the bed bugs

I'm the snake coiled under the air conditioning unit on the patio, waiting for you to fall into a drunken sleep so I can coil around your f at neck and squeeze the life out of you.....

I'm the air matress stuffed in a closet that the owner advertises as an extra bed.

I'm the puzzle with 10 plus pieces missing stacked along with the board games.

I'm the unknown substance caked on the burners of the stove in the kitchen...

I'm the all white, yes all WHITE, furniture, in the owner's living room that she left a very long letter about taking care of and not eating or drinking near or on, not applying sunscreen near or sit on while wearing, etc., etc.

I’m the low water pressure.

I'm the 50 plus beach chair photos and knick knacks strewn throughout the house.

I'm the instructions for how to log in to the wi-fi, printed in Comic Sans on a wrinkled, laminated piece of lilac-colored paper, shoved into the back of the Welcome Book. I'm completely wrong because the owners are Boomers who don't know what their own wi-fi password is.

I am the summer of 78 when we stayed in an all white beach house with shag carpeting and we could walk to the movies and see Grease and Heaven Can Wait and life was idyllic for a child. A couple of years later junior high would start and it would all go to Hell.

Im the threadbare scratchy towels.

I’m the brass and smoked glass end table beside the lower back destroying sofa bed.

I’m the shower drain that is clogged with strangers hair. Long and short.

^^ strangers’

I'm Ikea, and if the owners never live in this dump themselves, they've filled filled it with shit that was once inside me.

I'm the on-screen tv guide. 90% of the channels listed are "not available" because the owner only paid for the most basic package. But, hey -- enjoy checking out what you could be seeing!

I'm the circa-1996 decor.

I'm the lamp.

I'm the kitchen drawer full of carry-out menus. Most of them are over ten years old and the number of Alfredo's Pizza now belongs to a massage parlor.

I'm the driftwood.

I’m the fridge dispenser ice with a weird smell.

I'm the VHS collection. Highlights include ET, An American Tale, Flashdance, Ghost, Beetlejuice, and three Jane Fonda workout videos.

I'm the unopened box of Froot Loops from 1992.

I'm the books on the TV cabinet. I consist mainly of dog-eared paperbacks. I include three Danielle Steele novels, two David Baldacci mysteries, a Great Illustrated Classics edition of Moby-Dick, and a 2001 Fodor's guide to Disneyland.

I'm the front door, opening to a brief vacation experience you might not otherwise be able to afford.

I'm the phone book in the kitchen from 2005.

I'm the Smart TV™. Channels? I never promised you channels. But feel free to add the Slovakian Weather Highlights Channel. That's free, along with 600 others. Or spend 75 minutes downloading and configuring the Netflix app with my WebTV era interface, the same one that took you 3 minutes to set up in your own home. As you reach the last stretch of your return journey you will wonder why you didn't delete me because there's a 95% chance that you left everything as it was with your account details conveniently preloaded for the next guest.

I am empty and unloved in the pandemic.

I'm the no bedside stands or lamps in any of the bedrooms. You can only read by the bright overhead ceiling light at night. I'm the 2 shitty, totally flat pillows per queen size bed. I'm the completely bare windows with no blinds or curtains in the kitchen or living areas. Good luck with that morning sun or night time privacy!! I'm the illegal and un-permitted renovations that turned me into a 4 bedroom, 3 bath house when really I'm a 2 bedroom/ 1 bath. There are fresh turds and piss being flushed out onto the lawn as the septic system wasn't upgraded to accommodate the extra people. I'm the always brown and murky water of the Gulf that Galveston folks like to call "the beach". No one would swim in me unless they are immigrating from Mexico.

I'm the WiFi that blocks porn and The Data Lounge.

I'm the small metal film canister with enough weed for a joint and rolling papers left by the previous tenant in the bedroom bureau draw. In their haste to leave they forgot to go though all the bureau draws.

Lol nice, R59!

I'm this man-eating bed and I lock. But a butter knife opens me you found, and inside are such glorious treasures: sets of packaged sheets with the thrice-marked down close-out prices still on. Tempting to change the scratchy polyester sheets on the bed for these cotton one, but they smell like the inside of a Dollar Store, even through the thick plastic packaging. I'm two extension cords and a tiny portable heater, with burn marks. I'm emptied out and washed bottles of Molton & Brown body wash and shampoo and conditioner; beside me are the cheap stuff that will be put into me and smell nothing like Re-Charge . Black Pepper. I'm a three piles of towels that used to be in a stick. Is that jizz on the one? I'm bags of cleaning supplies and vacuum cleaner replacement bags. I'm the batteries you're looking for for the remote controls, but you won't find me here. Other guest have been here before you, that's why my lock pops open from a sideways glance.

Black pepper, R61?

I'm the lack of conveniently located electrical outlets in this pre-war house.

I'm Mike from Palm Springs and I have the vacation rental property owner on speed-dial for when I inevitably will call to complain about the AC unit, pool temperature, hot, and shower water temperature!!

I am the used condom lurking behind the couch

I'm Mike's tears as no-one can get the Wi-Fi working and the property owner isn't answering his phone.

I'm the ants.

I'm the three-ring plastic notebook covered in plastic with plastic pages that includes a 10-page plastic guide about how to turn on the TV. I have the words "Do NOT Remove!" on my cover. (because sooo many vacationers want to abscond with directions to someone else's cable).

I'm the pricelist page placed in a plastic sleeve in another notebook of Do's & Don'ts announcing that "Like Any of the Artwork You See in the Apartment? It's for Sale!." You spot it on Sunday as you're waiting to leave, having laughed all weeked about the incredibly bad and tortured "art."

I'm the 86 year old Republicunt with a face stretched thinner than Katherine Helmond's in Brazil. I live next door to your rental property, and every time you so much as splash in the pool, breathe, or fart, I will call the HOA, the police and, quite possibly, the local news media.

I'm the plastic cutting board, Ginsu knife, and Teflon pan that is missing its Teflon coating.

I laughed so hard at this thread! Totally describes so many rental properties

I'm the magazine holder that sits next to the couch. I'm mostly hidden from view; in fact, most guests rarely register my existence. I contain several issues of Country Living from the mid-2000s, a takeout menu that has traveled from and never returned to the takeout menu drawer, and a large-print Word Find with that is thoroughly completed.

I'm the roof terrace that looked so appealing on the website but in reality has definitely seen a few suicides.

I'm the board games in beaten up boxes with missing pieces

I all the dishes and cuttlery left over from previous guests

I'm getting out of here!

I am the $35,000 my owner made last season. Looks like 2020 will be even more.

I'm the owner . I get ONE week , off-season, to enjoy my slice of heaven

[quote] I am the $35,000 my owner made last season. Looks like 2020 will be even more.

Seems like 2020 would be even less, due to corona virus and travel concerns & restrictions.

We're the extra cleaning staff called in last minute, because, instead of 12 guests as contracted in an occupancy of 12, you brought 18, and "forgot" to take out trash or strip beds, brought dogs, smoked indoors and checked out late.

We appreciate that you parked on the lawn rather than finding street space. That you moved a sofa outdoors for more seating. That you rearranged the furniture to suit your needs. That rather than rolling the can to the street on the day requested, you left loose garbage an extra 5 days so the can is full of maggots.

I'm the upstairs "bedrooms" converted from an attic that get hotter than blue blazes during the day and a super comfortable 80 degrees at night. The owners were too cheap to upgrade the HVAC and have helpfully put a few ceiling fans up to help with the air circulation.

I'm the kitchen drawer that contains plastic takeout cutlery. I also contain thin paper napkins and small, crumpled packets of condiments like soy sauce and ketchup.

I'm the bathroom door that has to be slammed to close. I jam frequently with screaming children and panicked grandmothers stuck inside, but I also open on my own when a heavy person stresses the inadequate structural support by sitting on the toilet. (More screams and panic)

Last year at the Jersey Shore: I'm the framed poster in one of the two bedrooms of a gaggle of cheerleaders and some guy at a high school football game about 20 years ago. (Took me the whole week to realize it was Rudy Guillani circa 200X. Arghhhh!)

I'm the polyester-blend sheets and towels.

I'm the strange brick of camel meat or squirrel stew or some strange thing left in the freezer next to the empty ice cube trays. Wrapped in a sort of waxed paper and then with plastic wrap, I witnessed a few freeze thaw cycles and power failures. I'm an odd sort of sticky, and now you're sorry that your curiosity lead you to touch me.

*led

(Eeek)

I'm the inadequate liability insurance.

I'm the phone call from the nosey neighbor to the home owners who are great friends: "Girl, I just watched one of the kids take a shit in your pool! Yes, I DID!"

I’m the cheap pans left to soak overnight because everything you cooked got stuck and burnt on the bottom.

I’m the shower controls that are unlike any you’ve seen before and I make it impossible for you to make the water come out of the shower head rather than going into the tub. You’ll figure me out halfway through your stay.

I’m a washer/dryer combo at a vacation rental in Europe. My knobs have icons instead of words and the icons are indecipherable (a clothes hanger in front of the sun, an iron next to a snowflake, the sun with a line through it).

I’m the half hour you spend trying to chase out a bird that flew in after someone left the sliding patio door wide open.

I am STILL floating in the pool

I’ve rented a bunch of Airbnb and so many of these are 100% true

The last one I rented for 3 weeks, in South Florida, the owner was a little nutty. She stopped by to check on things multiple times during my stay. I wanted to scream after the first couple times.

One of the worst was when I was staying in a room, inside a house, and the fire alarm went off literally for hours before the owners did anything.

I'm the stains on the mattress. Never take the sheets off the bed in one of these rentals.

I'm the mini stereo system with cd and cassette player. No one has touched me since 1995.

I'm the impossibly stiff sliding glass door.

I'm all the places the maid doesn't clean well You notice six or seven more each day of your stay. By the time you leave you realize she just puts anything out of place out of sight, and splashes some bleach in the bathroom ("the smell makes them think it's clean.")

I pity all of you poor, beleaguered vacation rental units. I don't have to deal with tenants. I'm a gorgeous waterfront condo at the beach. Only my owner and his friends and family ever visit.....and even then I'm vacant about half the season. My owner would rather die than rent me out to trashy tourists like some trailer park pimp.

I am the 10 yr old stained take out menus in the left top kitchen drawer. We places haven't been around since the year of the flood

We're the opened box of Uncle Ben's Converted Rice and the plastic bottle of supermarket house-brand red wine vinegar in the kitchen cabinet. We're very lonely in here, with only the disposable picnic pepper shaker (the salt is long gone) to keep us company.

r102 please meet r47

I'm the refrigerator magnet advertising the local appliance repair shop.

I'm "that smell".

I'm the plastic colander with burn marks and melted spots.

I'm the holding tank. I'm always full of shit. I do pump and dump

I’m the framed New Orleans Jazz Fest poster.

I’m the plastic seashell with sand on the inside and XXX Beach on the outside.

I’m the washable scatter rugs that always look grimy.

I’m the liquor cabinet containing a two thirds empty bottle of Malibu rum, a full bottle of Angostura bitters, and a Crown Royal pouch with some dominoes in it.

I’m the “media center,” which in reality is just a niche in the living room that holds a 25-year-old 24” square TV along with a DVD/VHS combo, a tiny collection of DVDs and VHS tapes of movies you have already seen before, and no way to watch actual TV broadcasts. Your kids will ignore me and watch YouTube on their smartphones.

I’m the plastic cutting board with a big brown stain embedded in my slashed-up surface.

I smell vaguely of onions.

I’m the lingering feeling of slight dissatisfaction embedded in each item, surface, and view.

We're the avocado green measuring cups. We were originally purchased in 1979 and served dutifully in our owner's kitchen in Ohio until 2001, when they purchased a condo in Siesta Key. We've been here ever since, and we're showing our age. The 1/3 cup has been missing since 2013.

I’m the 49-card deck from the Golden Nugget.

Biloxi.

I'm the outside shower that only the owner actually gets naked in and uses as a shower. I have a hose for rinsing sand off of your feet before entering the house. There is a rule about that in the aforementioned rule book.

I’m the drawer and rack full of knives, not a damn one of them will even cut butter.

i'm the sliding glass door that never stays closed

I'm the empty plastic ice trays in the freezer. I may have been filled at some point. Give me a wash before you fill me with water. I might give off a taste of freezer burn, otherwise.

I am the nasty centipede lurking behind the bedroom blinds. You don’t know whether my sting is extremely painful or leads to gangrenes.

I’m the guest book by the front door, the prior renters sullen teenager wrote “had fun, lake is cold but dad caught a lot of fish, bathroom smells, air conditioning sucks.”

I'm the efflorescence in the bathroom that is damn near impossible to remove.

I'm the box of baking soda in the refrigerator with "replace by August 2014" reminder on the back

I’m the ductless air conditioner that is constantly doing something, going off and on, opening and closing its vents, shifting the air direction, anything but actually cooling off the house.

I'm the coriander, parsley, and cumin. Those are the only spices left on the spice rack despite there being enough room for at least 16 jars. At least the rack itself is screwed in tightly. The cupboard door it is attached to is not.

I am the starved mosquito on the ceiling that carries Dengue fever.

I'm the broom stick next to the couch used to knock on the ceiling when those damn hellions in the condo above won't settle down at 11pm

I am the cleaned up blood splatters on the wall that can be made visible with black light.

i'm the wallpaper border

I'm the amateurish tile job on the kitchen counter. On me sits a white ink marker pen the owner used to color the grout.

I'm the smoke-colored plastic honeycomb shades covering the picture windows.

i'm wicker

Soy Gerardo, tu jardinero. Me gustan las tetas de tu esposa.

I’m Covid-19, lingering on every surface.

I'm the scolding recycling instructions posted on the refrigerator. I make you feel like you will be arrested if they find an empty water bottle in the trash can.

I’m the canoe on the side of the cabin, they flipped me over and all four of them screamed like girls when they found a dead opossum covered in maggots. They’re leaving where they found me, they all changed their mind about canoeing. Too bad, I heard there’s lampreys and leeches in the water, I’d love for one of them to get suckered on their ass.

I'm the "equal or greater" replacement property that AirBnB proposed when the owner's of the lovely property you had booked went suddenly incommunicado in the last two weeks leading up to this big holiday week. AirBnB promises to credit your fully paid in advance booking to me. I am on the less fashionable edge of the center—just beyond the outer edge of the center by a few long blocks of rough looking social housing, actually. I look good outside, from the photos, but on closer inspection there are signs or trouble. Inside, the stairway is a disaster, dark and slanty in all directions, and steep; the bare harsh white corkscrew bulbs go on and off, on and off all the time, activated by sensors, and maybe rats. There's an eternally red light at the door at the top of the stairs but that's not our apartment, ours we're relieved to find is the first floor front, the piano nobile, with views from great large windows onto a once middle class street. The principal room has been crudely divided into three parts, and a leftover bit of a corridor made into a kitchen and beside it a bathroom. The furniture is all covered in throws, layers and layers of throws. Not at all what we saw in the photos. The beautiful 19th Century tile floor is entirely loose, just tiles sitting in a bed of old dust and flaked off human skin and worse. Walking across it sounds like stacking heavy china saucers on a shelf. Nothing looks anything like the photos, only the grand windows (with signs not to open or to toy with the locks.) The place has clearly changed hands since the listing photos, and for the worse.

There are a lot of signs everywhere, seemingly third and fourth generation re-copies of signs and instructions, each in its own dirty plastic sleeve. Here's one of the signs from the bathroom, evidently a copy of a sign from an apartment with a shared bathroom. I guess we're lucky we don't have to share bathrooms. It will be a long five days. If we last

I’m the worn towel with the stain you can’t explain.

I’m the box of grapenuts you’ve been eating every morning since you arrived, unaware I expired in 1994.

I’m the mothballs stinking up every closet in the joint.

I’m the vertical blinds. Broken, of course.

I'm the plastic cups with scratch marks and chips.

R139 share more pics

I'm the dust cloth the cleaning crew hasn't used since 1978.

I’m the mysterious stains appearing on each and every sheet.

i’m the rusted satellite dish dangling off the roof and hanging by one wire, I haven’t been active since Bush II was in office.

I am the complimentary dishwashing soap sample and one clean trash bag

I’m the rolls of toilet paper the owner promised would be stocked under the bathroom vanity. I don’t exist so for the first night you’ll be washing shit from your hole in the bathtub.

I'm the 5 buckets placed all around the cottage, even on the queen sized bed in the big 9x10 master bedroom. Then it starts to rain heavily and everyone is glad we're around. I await morning when the owner gives a history lesson of Sconset cottages and what renters should expect by going authentic and close to the Kennedeys..

I keep reading this as "Vatican Rental Property."

I’m the basement washer and dryer. The washer is filled with dirty rust water and neither appliance works.

I’m the broken outdoor umbrella that was part of a picnic table. Now the picnic table (on the porch) has no umbrella & is in constant hot sun.

I’m the broken grill. You can’t use me I’m broken.

I’m the shitty window A/C in the master suite. The rest of the house has zero A/C. It boiling hot in the middle of the summer.

No linens (bed sheets, towels) will be provided. You’ll need to get those separately through a 3 party provider.

All this and more for $3000 a week

I'm the twink I took to a rental property and fucked non-stop for weeks.

I'm the telltale signs that the furniture has been moved around: the dents in the carpet. Why was it all moved around? Were they filming porn? My neighbor told me they had a movie camera on the front porch.

I'm the unexpected party of 35 people, when the house has a limit of 5 people.

I'm the sock that comes flying off the ceiling fan when it's turned on.

I am Michael Lucas, aka Ramillez at Cadinot, who will cover your rental property in sperm and shit, and old condoms and then fight you in court until you are covered in sperm and shit and old condoms or at least the equivalent in the press.

I'm not what you expected.

I am the Vatican rental.

I am the bathroom that has no place to hang wet bath towels to dry. No hooks or towel rack..

I am the Christian renter spying on you with the field glasses, hoping to detect some homosex.

I am the foosball table. They are required in houses in the Poconos but no one plays it!

I’m the golf cart that comes with the Low Country rental on the gated island. When you take it for a spin you realize that the maximum speed is set to 5 mph. You take it back to the rental shop, give the attendant a 20 and end up getting the six-passenger deeluxe wagonaire version torqued to the max.

I have no idea what you are talking R163.

That's because you are dull and inexperienced, R164.

Bravo, R163.

Except it takes a fifty.

This thread is being conducted in foreign.

I am the pile of National Geographic magazines.

I am the tide chart from last year hanging on the refrigerator.

I am the trashcans outside which are filled with the previous renter's trash.

I'm the person who once toyed with renting a vacation place. I am highly grateful for this thread completely turning me off of that idea forever.

If I ever live to see post Rona days, I'll spend my money on nice hotels/resort casitas.

Keep the gross out stories coming, you witty bitches.

I'm the combination door lock for which the owner texted you the wrong code, and then was unavailable for several hours while you had to wait around and couldn't enter the house.

I'm the long black hairs found everywhere in the house. I'm making the new tenant gag.

I am the kitchen utensil drawer teeming with things like melon ballers, pastry blenders, garlic presses, and meat thermometers. If you want a can opener, a spatula, or any other handy common utensil, you’re out of luck.

I’m the top shelf in the kitchen pantry with fussy looking ingredients, many of them labeled gluten-free or keto. There’s frau handwriting on post-it’s that say “DON’T TOUCH”

Don’t touch me. She’s stated her boundaries.

I'm the beachfront house with the polite note from the owner asking that we please not keep the windows or sliding doors open as the salt air damages the furniture.

I am a dead fly. My entire extended family, including mayflies, gnats, and mosquitoes, plus some odd distant relatives, is also dead. We're reposing on the windowsills, in the sinks, and inside the glass bowl of the ceiling light fixture.

I'm the dead roaches on the rarely used top shelf of the kitchen pantry since no one is tall enough to see up there the shelf never gets cleaned, never reach up and your hand there.

I’m the mice you hear scuttling behind the walls and who’ll poo on anything you put in the bureau drawers.

I’m the hostile neighbors who don’t rent out THEIR property. Don’t bother asking us about anything, we’re not here to give you a charming lakeside experience. Call the guy you’re renting from.

I’m the April 1983 Reader’s Digest sandwiched between two of the Danielle Steele paperbacks mentioned by R52. Inside my ancient pages you’ll find a special article on the secret joys of solitude. Many people over the years have taken me to the bathroom for a dip into my wise offerings.

I’m the acrylic margarita glasses. Here’s to you, Karen! Thanks for hounding the homeowner with a barrage of questions/complaints throughout your family’s stay.

I'm the cheap bottle of gas-station wine and two flimsy wine glasses the host provides and thinks this is thoughtful and 'sets the mood'.

I'm in the way and am only reluctantly opened at 2:15am when all other alcohol sources are empty.

After a couple of tastes of my innards, everyone suddenly decides they are now tired, it's been a long day and decide to go to bed.

I'm constantly a disappointment and party killer. Somehow, I also kill any sex drive. Sigh.

Hungover guests gladly pour me down the sink the morning. I hate my life.

I'm the gay nightlife mini-magazines the straight renter parents ignore. I'm secreted away by their teenage sons, who try to determine if the pics are drag queens or showgirls. They can't all be men.

I'm filled with acronyms that the boys incorrectly attempt to decipher.

I am the broken beach umbrellas in the garage.

I’m the grease and dust covered cookbooks in the kitchen, they have such charming titles and photos. “The Beachhouse Cookbook” or “Cooking Like a Kennedy” and they conjure up fantasies of clam bakes and roadside corn. You’re not cooking, trust me. There’s an Applebee’s down the road.

I am a threadbare beach towel from the 90s, the only large towel in the place. One of the renters spots me on a top closet shelf, flaps me open, ponders for about 1 second, then decides he'd rather be dripping wet and shivering, with sand caked in his crack and taint, than use me.

I’m the “Angela Lansbury: Positive Moves” tape that’s been jammed in the VCR since 1998.

Leaving no room for "Bonnie Franklin: I Hate To Exercise, But I Love To Tap."

I am the rare rental property owner who sincerely wants my guests to have an amazing week. I know for many they have saved up money and looked forward to this for a long time.

Who let r189 in?

I am the outside shower that only runs if you are actively pulling on the chain.

R191 bet there are earwigs crawling there too.... You reminded me of a nasty childhood memory

I’m one of the plastic chairs on the front porch, and I’m split in two halves. The fat bitch sat in me. He’ll be buying a replacement.

I the posters here who are so negative but book vacation rentals year after year.

^ I am

I am the next door neighbor in the cute 4 plex with the courtyard garden, and balconies above. I am the only actual tenant, the other three are illegal VRPs. I will hate this, but not move, as my rent is half the going rate in town.

I’m the frau burned in the past by vacation rentals but entranced every summer by the beautiful ads and am ready to try again. My kids want Disney, ungrateful bastards.

I’m the OnlyFans videos floating around that show the real story of the contents of the couch cushions.

I’m the guy that rented a cute little house for next to nothing in Detroit to get me some of that good bbc night after night. Um wait, did someone mention the owners might have hidden cameras installed?

I'm a timeshare. Remember me?

I’m the person who was invited to fill the house, even though I barely know the rest of the group. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought along all of my latest problems so that this can basically be group therapy week, and I didn’t bring any food because I didn’t really think we’d be cooking all of our meals. Also, I don’t like the outdoors, so I’ll be in the house at all times. But I’m low maintenance, I promise!

I’m the disappointment.

I'm the Fundamentalist Christian Chick tracts found in the bottom drawer and the awful realization that the owners are from Arkansas. at

Also, the frayed, yellowed vintage UNO playing cards in the kitchen drawer behind the two dish towels with holes in them.

I’m the low country rental up on stilts above flood grade with the storage unit and outdoor shower stalls under the house. When you come back from that late night walk along the beach you and your pal hit the showers. You discover untold pleasures when he shyly joins you in your stall and presents hole. You do your best not to be too noisy out of respect for the family next door playing in their driveway, but the mom & dad give you glaring looks when you walk up the outside stairs wearing only your towels and playing a bit of grabass.

I'm the gargoyle on the front steps that the guests have affectionately named Kimberly.

I'm the clock in the bedroom. I don't exist. It's up to you to provide your own timepiece.

I'm the smoke alarm battery that starts chirping in the middle of the nigh because I haven't been replaced in a year or so.

I'm Trivial Pursuit. Most of my answers are out of date, but go ahead and play me.

I'm the gas grill. All my parts inside are one meal away from disintegrating.

I’m a towel rack that will fall off of the wall if you don’t fold your towels properly.

We're the kids with absolutely no interest in the vacation. We just want to know the wi-fi password immediately, so we can spend the entire week glued to our smartphones.

I am the roof. One good tropical rainstorm and you can kiss me goodbye. Hell, a fiddler would probably put a giant hole through me at this point.

LOL, I can relate to so many of these having spent lots of beach vacations in rental units. Now I own a beach condo. A very nice one that I don't rent out to anyone....and I 'still' can relate to a lot of the posts. @ R212, every spring we have to do an inspection to see what's flown off the roof over the winter. High winds, storms, salt air. There is always a lot of maintenance.

I’m the 1970s edition of Clue. My box is yellowed from age and nicotine and Prof. Plum was swallowed by the toddler who came with last year’s family.

I'm the cleaning lady who comes in between each booking. Obviously, I don't do shit while I'm there. Perhaps the home owners might want to pay me more and more timely as well.

I’m Kaitlynne, the sullen 17 year old daughter who feels she is too old for the annual lake vacation and am old enough to take care of myself for a long weekend at home. There’s still such a thing as freedom, you know.

R215 She does take a shit, however, and doesn’t flush.

When I see this thread in the side bar I see"Let's be the Vatican Rental Property".

r218 Actually, that has some promise.

I'm the construction site two houses away and I start work Monday thru Friday at 8AM

r218 There was already a thread. It died quickly.

I’m the ennui.

I'm the vacationer who returned yesterday from a week at the NJ shore. While we were packing up our car, two cleaning women arrived to clean the downstairs unit and were gone in 18 minutes.

I an the one star review on AirBNB blaming the hot weather on my disappointing summer vacation. Oh the cottage was lovely, immaculate, comfortably furnished and I really appreciated the little details, but the weather ruined it. I don’t understand how reviews work but I brought down the owner’s 5 star rating.

I'm the 1986 alarm clock with red numbers and yellowed plastic that goes off at 5:15 in the morning.

“NEE NEE NEE NEE NEE NEE NEE NEE”

I am OP. I am reviving this thread now that summer vacation season is approaching.

I’m chorus of green frogs that keep you up all night

I'm the mosquitos who came in when you opened the door we will buzz around you as you try to go to sleep. We will bite you after you've fallen asleep.

I am the little kid in the upstairs unit who never seems to sleep and runs back and forth across the floor 24/7

I’m the iPod dock.

I'm the "sofa" that is so low to the ground that you cannot get up from it without the jaws of life.

I'm the moving and repeated dropping of furniture upstairs. I will last all day, every day, for an unexplained reason.

I'm a dusty can of Beef-A-Roni on the shelf.

Buon Appetito!

I'm a flattened futon. I look like a nice comfy bed in the photos.

I'm a long black hair on the wall of the shower stall.

Complain about me, and get $100 off the rental.