Dammit: Tonight Is the Grand Opening of My Airbnb and I’ve Just Sprayed Butter in My Eyes
There was no margarine for error.
Tonight is the ribbon cutting for my Airbnb and not only did the photographer cancel on me, but I’ve just sprayed spray butter directly into my eye sockets.
I guess this is what I get for trying to create a magical evening. I’ve spent months meticulously planning this grand opening, calling and inviting city officials, ordering fresh oysters, booking a classy cover band, and for what? A trip to the ER to get this watery butter sucked out of my burning corneas?
It’s not like I even had any help preparing “The Airbnb Opening of the Century.” From the very beginning Mavis said I was “too obsessed” with the idea of owning and operating my own Airbnb. “It’s a studio apartment — where are we going to live when it’s being used?” she’d say to me. “A grand opening? You clearly have no idea how an Airbnb even works!”
She’s always been jealous of my Airbnb ambition, and bitter that she never learned to play the oboe. “Good riddance!” I said when she left to stay with her work friend. “Now I can focus!!”
But the truth is that this grand opening has been destroying my life. I’ve alienated friends and family and have stopped grooming myself.
I just wanted everything to be perfect for when I opened that front door to esteemed guests, but I have no idea how create a charming atmosphere and I ordered way too many water chestnuts. I tried beginning my preparations by just washing the sink, but my hand got caught in the garbage disposal and I was stuck there for three days.
As if that weren’t enough, the chief of police I invited to the ribbon cutting is now saying that my apartment is actually owned by some guy named Vance Hartman, and I have to get out because I haven’t been paying rent?? Is this what Job felt like?
Yet somehow, through all the setbacks, I persisted in my elaborate preparations — Until today, when my photographer backed out (“personal reasons”) and I accidentally squirted an ounce of spray butter into my eyeballs.
Maybe it’s time to just throw in the towel. The oysters got overcooked while I was writhing around on the floor in agony, and I just learned the red carpet I acquired is actually just a white carpet stained with beets (I hope it’s beets).
Maybe Mavis was right when she said I was “wrong.” But somehow I — wait…what’s this? A knock upon the door? The first guests have arrived…And in uniform! I suppose the show must go on, spray butter robbing me of my vision or not. My heart is absolutely fluttering. Second chances really do happen. Let the evening of pleasantries begin!
Editor’s Note: The evening of pleasantries did not begin, as the author was immediately arrested for trespassing, mail fraud, cockfighting, resisting arrest and illegal use of spray butter.
