I’ve been working at a small-time storage facility for about 3 years now. It doesn’t pay much, but it was a pretty good distraction from things. Lord knows how hard it’s been since my sister went missing. One moment she was here, the next she wasn’t. We searched to no avail, but hope still lived in our hearts that one day we’d find her. Unfortunately, though, hope isn’t enough for me most days. And unlike the rest of my family, my hope was fleeting. That’s what brings us here. This shitty, hospital-lighted warehouse with hundreds of concrete rooms designated for old junk and knickknacks. I just had to find a way to get out of the house. Now, working here, I’ve seen my fair share of renters; all of which would bring every all manner of random items in to forget about. Things ranging from family heirlooms and furniture, to old high school trophies and man-cave relics. I never understood why they wouldn’t just…throw some of this junk away. Or at least donate it, you know? That’s actually...
I’m not a difficult guest, but if I’m paying a $150 cleaning fee, I expect the floors to actually be vacuumed. The place was "fine," but there were crumbs in the kitchen drawers and hair in the shower. I left a polite, honest 3-star review on Airbnb mentioning the grime. About six hours later, just as I was settling in at home, my phone buzzed. It was an official notification from the Airbnb Resolution Center. The host, "Marc," was requesting $640.00 for "Professional Floor Restoration." He attached a photo of a nasty, charred black circle right in the middle of the bedroom floor. His message was pure vitriol: "You absolute liar. You trashed my home. You left a massive burn on the original hardwood. I have to sand the whole room now. Don't think you’re getting away with this." My heart dropped. I don’t even smoke, and I don't own a hair straightener. I knew exactly what he was doing—he was "punishing" me for the 3-star rating b...