Friends of friends turned up for a holiday, and I regret not saying no.
Last summer my old schoolmate, Emma, called me frantic with a request: she wanted me to host her best mates for a week in my seaside town of Brighton. They were looking for a quiet break by the sea, and I felt awkward refusing, so I agreed. I tried to explain beforehand:
The season is in full swing, so I cant give them a room for free. And I wouldnt feel right taking money from your friends either.
Emma replied, Darling, theyll pay. Money isnt the issue; theyre just scared of scams the sort that charge upfront and then turn away the guests or boot them halfway through the stay.
I fell for it. Had I known how much those holidays would cost me, I never would have said yes.
Feeling a twinge of unease, I offered them a decent discount roughly half the usual rate.
The day arrived. Instead of the promised family with a tenyearold boy, a teenage girl arrived with them. Oh well, they were acquaintances. The threeperson room, however, felt cramped for them.
The welcome was warm. I tried to whip up a decent dinner, and after the meal I showed them the little historic lanes of our town. I wished them well and retreated to my own chores.
On the second day the guests son, Jack, shot a waterpistol at the working television. The parents were in the room, yet the prank went ahead. The couple apologised and promised to cover the repair, but the set stayed broken (still waiting for a fix). I handed them a spare TV from the next room. What will you do this evening? I asked.
Later the family burnt a kettle the teenage girl had simply forgotten to fill it with water.
Then, as they began rearranging the tiny room, two legs snapped one from a nightstand, the other from a table. They laughed it off. Heehee, you have so many pieces of furniture! Well tape the table leg and everything will be fine. Well stuff something under the nightstand nothing major.
The climax was a raucous party that roared on until the second hour of dawn, full of drunken shouts and yells. When, at eleven, I asked them to turn the music down, they replied, Were resting, for the money we paid. It was true; the volume finally dropped after a second warning.
There was no point arguing with drunken guests, so I waited until the next day. In the morning I spoke plainly with the couple, telling them that such behaviour was unacceptable. I reminded them they werent the only ones on holiday here and asked them to treat the appliances with care.
They shrugged, looking dissatisfied, and said, We paid the money. I snapped, Be grateful youre staying here as a friend of a friend, otherwise you wouldnt be here at all!
After my words the visitors behaved more modestly and the gadgets stopped breaking. Only the friendship with them faded.
In the end we stopped contacting each other, yet they still walked off with the little presents and souvenirs I had prepared for them and for our mutual friend, and they vanished with two large bath towels and a terrycloth sheet from the room.
I must say, they are the very best friends of my friend. Emma and I had been inseparable throughout our secondary school years, right up until she married and moved to another city. She described her companions as pleasant and wellmannered people. If that were truly the case, they could have spent every summer with us.
It turned out exactly as it did. Emma was silent for a long while, but one day she hinted that the holiday had not suited them:
They said I kept nagging them and spoiling the mood, even though theyd paid a lot of money!
It hurts to think that the money they handed over couldnt even buy a new TV, kettle, table, nightstand, bedding or towels. On top of that my frayed nerves and the displeasure of other guests tarnished the places reputation, and next summer the holidaymakers might simply choose somewhere else.
Still, I gained a great deal of experience and now Im certain that sometimes its better simply to say no.
