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My Airbnb made me $2,300 a month and was almost always booked. Nightmare guests made me quit hosting.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Wendy Martin, 50, who chose to delist the Airbnb on her property near Dayton, Ohio, after bad experiences with guests. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

We purchased our property from a family member who was already doing Airbnb.

The owners enjoyed it and were pretty successful at it. They made us quite a deal on the property, so we decided to go ahead and just keep it as an Airbnb.

It’s a small single-family home. It was built in 1910 as the original home on the property while the family was having the main house built.

It’s really close to the back of the main house. If I were in my home office and there were people in the living room of the Airbnb, I would be able to tell you what they looked like, so it’s a little bit awkward to be like a traditional rental.

So we thought Airbnb, with people who were here short-term coming and going, would be a really great way to give us a little bit of extra money.

It has three bedrooms, one-and-a-half bathrooms, and probably about 1,300 square feet. It has a full kitchen, washer, and dryer.

It’s located on our six-acre property, so people have full use of the trails and the woods, and we’ve got a little stream, and they can feed the fish in the koi pond.


A koi pond.

A koi pond on the property.

Courtesy of Wendy Martin



We are within 20 minutes of four or five different colleges. We’re 15 minutes to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. We’re an hour to Columbus, Ohio, and an hour to Cincinnati — so the location is great.

We don’t get a whole lot of vacation rentals, but we get a lot of people coming to visit family or military PCSes, and a lot of college graduations and new student drop-offs and parent weekends — things like that.

From about March until the end of December every year, we’ve had almost no weekends open.

The previous owners had great success with it, and they met some great people, so we decided that we would continue doing that. We eventually re-listed it as our own after we bought the property and have been running it ever since. We’ve been hosting for about two-and-a-half years now.

Bad experiences with guests made us leave the platform

I’m taking the property off Airbnb for a few reasons.

Primarily, I was recently diagnosed with a mild form of leukemia. It’s not nearly as scary for me as it is for some people, but we don’t know when I might get sick, and at some point, I’m going to be too sick to actually run the Airbnb.

But in two-and-a-half years, we’ve had three really terrible experiences — and two of those were the same guests. This was probably the first time that it was frustrating for me to be a host.

Once, we had guests stay here for five days, and the two guys just hung out. They brought a couple of big, stinky dogs, because we allow pets with no pet fee, and they were basically just slobs. For some reason, they drove up the driveway all the way up into the yard on the grass.


A yard on an Airbnb property.

Martin’s yard.

Courtesy of Wendy Martin



They didn’t break anything or trash the house, but the house was pretty gross after they got out of there, so it took us a while to clean. A few months later, I didn’t realize the same guest who had booked before was booking the house again.

Three days before he showed up, I realized, “Oh my God, this guy again?” So that was frustrating.

Another time, a guy said he and his friends were coming to stay. They stayed for like 10 days, and they trashed our house. I mean, just filth. Food wrappers stuffed under mattresses and behind beds. They had dumped a pot of cooked food in the flower bed in the front yard. They melted a remote control.

Given the extra cleaning and the damage that they did, I filed a reimbursement request with Airbnb for $160. I sent all the documentation.


A living room.

The living room.

Courtesy of Wendy Martin



I wasn’t asking for an exorbitant amount. And then they just paid me $10 total for a remote control. I would’ve rather they sent me $0.

[Ed note: When reached for comment about Martin’s complaint, Airbnb said, “We thoroughly reviewed the photos submitted, as we do with all host damage claims, and partly reimbursed the host for the damage found. We value our hosts and do our best to support them throughout their hosting journey.”]

After that, my husband and I made the decision that maybe this isn’t going to be for us. My daughter and her girlfriend and their best friend live nice and close. They’re in their mid-20s, living in college apartments, so we agreed to let the girls come rent it.

We’ll make about half the money we would normally make, but I now no longer have to be a cleaner. I don’t have to replace all the snacks and water. I don’t have to worry about replacing linens or towels or providing shampoo or any of that other stuff.

Going forward, I’m going to rent to my daughter instead

We don’t use smart pricing — I just charged $125 a night and a $75 cleaning fee. If people stay for more than seven days or more than 15 days, then I’d give them a 10% or a 15% discount.

For a weekend stay, we’re usually clearing about $325 for a two-night stay — and that could be one person, or it could be six people because we allow up to six, and we don’t charge extra for anybody.

We’re not a tourist town, so for the people we’re serving, we’re fulfilling some kind of need for them. People do not come to Dayton, Ohio, to hang out and live their lives.

So, typically, the people that are coming here are the same people that we would have coming if it were our family, and it was important to me that we provided someplace nice that people could also afford, without it being so cheap that we were getting guests who just showed up and trashed the place.


A kitchen.

The kitchen.

Courtesy of Wendy Martin



We’ve hosted people who have unfortunately lost family members in tragic accidents, or we had one repeat guest who came because her dad was in assisted living, so she would come for the same long weekend at the beginning of every month for nine months, and she stayed with us every week or every month.

We had six bookings going into the new year already — mostly in March and April — so I reached out to each of them, explaining that I had to cancel their stays.

We’ve met some really cool people who have stayed with us multiple times, and it kind of sucks to take that option away from them.


The exterior of a home.

The front of the Airbnb property on Martin’s property.

Courtesy of Wendy Martin



Normally, we bring in about $2,300 a month on average. But we’re going to charge my daughter and her roommates about $1,300 a month — and that includes all utilities.

But they’re also going to be doing some yard work, which will save us some additional money. So I think it’ll all end up coming out in the wash because we don’t have to provide linens and snacks, and I don’t have to pay somebody to come clean.

Once I’m healthy again and they decide to move on, then likely we will go to something like Furnish Finder and do something a little more long-term where I can have a little more control over it.

Axel Springer, Insider Inc.’s parent company, is an investor in Airbnb.




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I run alcohol-free nightlife events in NYC. Most of my guests aren’t sober — they just don’t want to drink.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Sam Bail, a data engineer and the founder of the alcohol-free pop-up event company, Bright Nights Social. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Three years ago, I had the idea to open an alcohol-free bar in New York City.

I don’t drink, but I still wanted nightlife — dancing, music, meeting new people, getting out of the house on a Friday or Saturday night. What I didn’t want was another alcohol-free space that was centered on wellness, meditation, or yoga. I wanted something that still felt like real nightlife, just without booze being the main event.

Instead of signing a lease, I started testing the idea by hosting pop-up events. I’d take over coffee shops or other venues at night and turn them into alcohol-free bars for the evening.

What started as an experiment quickly took on a life of its own.

Over the past three years, I’ve collaborated with tons of venues, experimented with a variety of new formats, and thousands of people have come through our doors. That’s been the most surprising part of all of this: the demand.

What’s even more interesting? Most of the people who attend my events aren’t even sober.

Who actually comes to alcohol-free nightlife

When people hear “alcohol-free event,” they often assume the crowd is made up entirely of sober or sober-curious people. That hasn’t been my experience at all. Based on conversations with guests, I estimate that at least 75% of the people who attend my events don’t identify as sober or even sober-curious.

They’re mostly in their mid-20s to early 30s — older Gen Z and very young millennials. Gender splits depend on the event, but many of my parties are close to 50-50 men and women. What they have in common is that they want to go out, socialize, and have fun without making drinking the center of their entire social life.

I’m 40, so I’m an elder millennial who’s already done the heavy partying phase and is over it. But many of the people who come to Bright Nights Social are younger than me and feel the same way. They’ll tell me things like, “I still drink sometimes, I just don’t want to do it every time I go out,” or “Alcohol makes me feel terrible the next day.”

They’re not abstaining out of moral opposition to alcohol or because of addiction. They’re opting out because they don’t like the cost, the hangovers, or the way drinking dominates social life in cities like New York.

Experiences > drinking

What I see aligns with a broader shift happening right now, especially among younger people. There’s a growing focus on experiences rather than just going to a bar and spending money on drinks. In New York City, you can see it everywhere: pottery classes, cooking classes, rug tufting, late-night library events, group reading clubs.

Some of my favorites have been hosting cooking classes and our crafting events, like rug-making. Coming up this month, we have a tea bar, a bagel-making (and eating!) class, and a full-on dance party, complete with DJs and a full non-alcoholic bar, to close out Dry January.

People want to do something. They want to make memories. They just don’t want to wake up feeling awful the next day.

Cost is also a big factor. When cocktails are $15 or $20 each, it doesn’t take long for a casual night out to become extremely expensive. A lot of people tell me they’d rather spend their money on an experience than on alcohol that doesn’t even make them feel good.

That doesn’t mean Gen Z isn’t drinking at all. In fact, some recent data suggests younger people are actually drinking more now than they were a year or two ago. I think part of that is a post-pandemic catch-up effect — many Gen Zers reached legal drinking age during lockdowns and simply didn’t have the chance to go out.

What I see on the ground is moderation. People might have one drink at dinner and then switch to a nonalcoholic beer. Or they’ll alternate between alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks throughout the night — what some people call “zebra striping.” They’re being much more intentional about how and when they drink.

THC, nonalcoholic drinks, and what’s next

Another huge shift I’m seeing is the role of legal THC. I don’t serve THC products at my events, but I don’t stop anyone from having one before they come, and I hear about them constantly from guests and friends who work at nonalcoholic bottle shops. THC drinks are some of the best-selling products in those stores.

People understand what THC does. They say it helps with social anxiety, takes the edge off, and feels more manageable than alcohol when used in moderation. Compared to that, there’s still skepticism around functional or adaptogenic drinks — things with nootropics, ashwagandha, or functional mushrooms. Many people aren’t convinced that those drinks actually do anything beyond being a placebo.

That said, I think we’re still early. As people learn what works for their own bodies — whether that’s L-theanine, lion’s mane, or something else — those functional beverages may gain more traction.

At the same time, I’m also seeing conversations online about people pulling back from THC after overdoing it, so I think we’ll see a similar trend as people try to find nightlife events that best suit their needs.

I don’t think most people want to be completely sober forever, but they are actively experimenting with what moderation looks like.

Alcohol-free doesn’t mean anti-fun

The biggest misconception about alcohol-free nightlife is that it’s boring or restrictive. What I’ve learned is that people don’t want to be told what not to do — they just want more options.

Bright Nights Social isn’t about sobriety as an identity. It’s about creating a space where alcohol isn’t the default. You can still dance, flirt, meet strangers, and stay out late. The only difference is that you’re not expected to drink to participate.

The fact that so many non-sober people show up tells me this isn’t a niche idea anymore. Alcohol-free nightlife isn’t just for people who’ve quit drinking entirely. It’s for anyone who wants to go out — and wake up the next day feeling like themselves.

Do you host or attend alternative nightlife events? Contact this reporter at ktl@businessinsider.com.




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