The Cost of Staying is Way Too Costly

When I booked the home on the beach, I realized that it was very “cheap” not even inexpensive, but there were ten-star reviews. In my haste to book, I didn’t see how many stars, which I usually do. But something kept telling me that it was too good to be true. That inner alarm was beeping, like when the fire alarm needs new batteries. It wasn’t a full-on alarm, just a subtle reminder that things could go wrong quickly if not addressed.

After booking the rental, I got an email saying that I had booked through another site and unwittingly signed a rental agreement that I was not allowed to review on VRBO because “VRBO charges for reviews…” and the rental agency didn’t want to pay them and didn’t care about the advertising algorithms associated with official reviews… I know, you can feel it too, right?

We pulled up to a dilapidated old home on the beach. The location was amazing, truly, but the house looked like it should have had a condemned sign on it. The paint was wearing off, the boards were sinking, there were out sheds that looked like a hoarding situation, and the “digital locks” as they were described, were real estate lock boxes from the 80s and old-fashioned keys. It was advertised as a “four-bedroom home” on the beach. Yet, there were two separate rentals one on top of the other. As we went from one to the next, the smell got worse, as did that sinking feeling in my stomach.

The girls, unable to sleep on their own at a vacation location quickly realized that although there were four rooms, we would all have to occupy either the two bedrooms upstairs or the ones downstairs. We went from one to the next deciding which was better.

The lower home smelled more like mold, had a dead cockroach in the shower, bug droppings everywhere, and beds that smelled. I had known that there would be no linens provided, which is not that unusual, so I had everyone bring sleeping bags, but the condition of the beds screamed lice and bedbugs.

We quickly moved to the upstairs where the trade-off was carpeting that was buckled and crusty, due to the holes and unevenness of the floors, two many couches, one more disgusting than the other, and a kitchen that lacked a dishwasher, the essentials like soap, and used paper towel for contact paper in the lower shelves. I suppose the thought process was if you used the kitchen, you were supposed to take the dishes and walk them to the other kitchen.

We had to choose but it was like picking the best of two evils.

As we sat trying to figure out where to put our things, I grappled with what to do. I knew I could not get a refund, it stated it plainly in the terms and conditions. Also, I had four small girls excited to go to the beach and looked forward to our time away.

If I left, I would lose my hard-earned money and disappoint people.

If I stayed, I could see the potential of things like bedbugs, lice, viruses, and things that could affect me, and us, even after we left.

It reminded me of a decade of my life.

I stayed.

No one would really question why I did, would they? I mean, I had little kids, I had paid over a thousand dollars that I couldn’t get back. I was three hours from home and I had invested in this vacation and rental. It would make sense that someone would look at this situation and think “I will make the best of it, after all, how bad can it possibly be?” 

There was also that voice in my head that reasoned “You’re just spoiled by the other homes you have been in, not everyone is lucky enough to be at the beach. Your expectations are too high.”

Over the next two days, I made all the provisions I could to keep me and the girls safe. We all stayed in the top house. I made sure to strip the beds of their top blankets and put the pillows in the corner. I went to great lengths to make sure that they didn’t touch things, anything they did, I washed thoroughly ahead of time. We made the best of it.

I would dare say that by the second day, it almost felt normal. When we walked into the house after the beach, I wasn’t as disgusted anymore. I didn’t see the potential hazards and I was able to block out what I didn’t want to see and only acknowledge the things that would make the best of our situation. 

As I speak out vocally about what my toxic relationship was like, I realistically know that there will be those who will question me in many ways. They will ask, “Why did you stay?”

Although a vacation rental is a very different situation, in some ways it isn't. Once you’ve invested in something, planned it out in your head, and glorified what it will and should be, your mind has a way of making it “okay,” “bearable,” “doable,” and for some of us, even rose-colored. 

You excuse what you know in your heart because the cost of packing up and heading home feels like you will lose all of your hopes and plans. Turning around will cost you "too" much.

We decided to leave early due to the girls not being able to sleep in that rental. There was no recourse, however, I could not review it. Once more, I couldn’t get my money back. But at the end of the day, I couldn't continue to tell them it wasn’t that bad; they saw it differently and didn’t cave.

They listened to that fire alarm and decided to act.

After all, fire alarms are not to scare you; they are there to encourage you to act, and we did.

If your metaphorical vacation rental is not what you paid for or wanted, it is better to walk away than to paint fake happy memories of a place that was not what it was, period.

The cost of staying is way more expensive than the cost of losing what you’ve already lost. Pack up now and go home to safety.