They seemed normal enough. But these Airbnb guests were far from it

They seemed normal enough, so I accepted their Airbnb booking, writes Jacinda Tutty. Little did I know, this couple were about to take me for a ride.

Cheers! Here’s to a great location and free accommodation. Isn’t it amazing how far relentless complaining can take you? (Pic: iStock)

This week I dipped my toe into the intriguing world of the sharing economy putting my underused apartment up on Airbnb.

It was easy to devour the upsides — getting paid to rent out a space that I barely lived in thereby turning my under-used home into a source of revenue.

But what they don’t warn you about are the guests from hell.

Admittedly, I could have just drawn the short straw for my first Airbnb guest. They seemed normal enough, a mature aged couple travelling from Canada, no reviews but they had been Airbnb “verified” so I decided why not? I accepted their booking.

It started innocently enough. I had a cleaner come through the apartment, I took everything out of my cupboards and just locked up one area. From using Airbnb myself as a traveller, I knew it was perfectly normal to see personal trinkets or a shelf of the hosts’ food so I just minimised my imprint. I even went above and beyond and purchased milk, eggs, cereal, Tim Tams and fresh fruit to make them feel at home.

Oh how naive I was.

Firstly, the guests arrived late so I needed to wait around for several hours for them. When they did pull up they didn’t bother getting out of the car. I explained how to get to the car park and handed over the keys and sent them on their merry way.

Five minutes later. My phone rings: “What number was the car park again?” I told them.

Ten minutes later. My phone rings again: “There are no towels.” They’re in the cupboard as it explains in the welcome book.

”OK, my turn... tell her... tell her there’s a bad smell coming from the bathroom!” (Pic: iStock)

Five minutes later: “There are no hand towels.” They’re hanging up in the bathroom and kitchen.

Ten minutes later: “The fridge isn’t clean, there’s food on one of the shelves in here and needs it a wipe down.” I gently explained the listing is an Airbnb not a hotel. That’s normal.

Five minutes later: “The apartment is filthy, it hasn’t been cleaned.” Really? My $100 cleaning bill begs to differ.

Five minutes later: “There’s hair everywhere.” Refer to cleaning bill.

Two minutes later: “Is this YOUR apartment? Do you live here when it’s not rented?” Yeah that’s kind of the whole idea of Airbnb. It’s not a hotel. We open our homes to you.

Ten minutes later: “You haven’t washed the sheets.”

And that’s when I cracked it.

As if I am going to rent an apartment without fresh bed linen.

At this point I extend the option for them to check out. I called Airbnb and explained the situation and they cancelled the reservation so the guest could leave without any charge and could rent somewhere else straight away.

Except it didn’t turn out that way. Sure the booking was cancelled and they could go elsewhere. But they didn’t. They stayed. They squatted in my apartment.

Numerous calls and texts the next day went ignored and despite my pleas to Airbnb they could do nothing to get these guests out of my home.

The afternoon of the next day rolls around and they still haven’t left and I started to get desperate. Finally it took my partner squaring off with them to get them to leave.

But what did Airbnb give me at the end of it? Nada. No money, no compensation, no cleaning fee. Zilch.

Essentially with a bit of complaining and harassment these guests managed to snag free accommodation.

Before I became a journalist, I worked for a travel company for many years. Earlier in my career I had the fun job of handling customer complaints and some of them were ridiculous.

I had someone complain about being held hostage by a single fly in their room, the sand was the wrong colour, they didn’t like how hot Australia was and my personal favourite; someone complained and checked out because a guest sneezed near them in the lobby and they were convinced they would then get swine flu.

But no matter how absurd the situation was, the business was built around supporting suppliers and would step in to resolve things for both parties when they went sour.

The sharing economy on the other hand puts all the onus on the operator.

If someone complains, you sort it out or you lose money. If something goes wrong, you have to fix it. And if the guest wants a refund, you have to give it.

The same goes for Uber.

These “micro-gig” jobs have economists excited and have created multi-billion dollar tech unicorns beloved by Silicon Valley. But as the companies continue to evolve it’s apparent that one of the biggest challenges the new sharing economy will face is how to support the suppliers of their systems.

Although my foray into the sharing economy was hardly the worst story out there, for the system to work the giants can’t sit back and wash their hands of the big issues and say “not my problem.”

The issue of employee “misclassification” is already creating legal challenges abroad and could create a road full of hazards for the newly chic sharing economy. Deliveroo drivers, Uber operators and Airbnb hosts are starting to hit back. Whether these same disputes will filter through in Australia still remains to be seen. In the interim, I think I’ll take a hiatus from Airbnb.