These People Would Hate Me Online, But They Let Me Stay in Their Homes
Here’s what happens when we put down our phones and start knocking on doors
There is a strange intimacy to the overnight stay in someone else’s home. In the hours that elapse between dinner and breakfast, you get a peek into your hosts’ rhythms, routines, bathroom products. Do they wash dishes after dinner or leave them in the sink? Do they drink tap water or filtered water? Is there a bar of soap in the shower or a container of body wash — scented or unscented? They, in turn, get glimpses of your habits, your products, the refuse you leave in the waste basket. Whether or not you wash out the water glass or leave it by the sink, make the bed or strip the sheets.
For years, my partner and I welcomed strangers into our 650-square-foot condo in Washington, D.C. They stayed in a room that our real estate agent couldn’t legally call a “bedroom” because it had no window. These were the early days of Airbnb, when most listings were for spare rooms with air mattresses and futons. There were no cleaning fees, no lockbox codes, no professional property managers.
Our guests often hung out with us in our living room. One was consulting with the White House on how to end homelessness; we later saw him interviewed on The Daily Show…
