Inn Trouble: I prefer the term "Saltine"

The old saying goes that no good deed goes unpunished.  I learned this firsthand last summer.  A woman called me, looking for a place to stay for an upcoming weekend, explaining that her son was moving to Lawrenceville and they wanted something close.  My parents were visiting that weekend and I had forgotten to mark "their" room as booked on my calendar.  So I told the woman (let's call her Jackie) that she could stay at my one bedroom rental for the same price as staying at the bed & breakfast, which was a considerable discount.  For those of you counting, that was mistake number one.

Jackie booked the room through my booking agent and told me she would call when she and her husband were ready to check in.

That day I got several calls from her, all indicating she was clearly out of her element.  Although Jackie and her husband lived in a major midwestern city, it became evident immediately that they were suburbanites.  The traffic scared her, parallel parking was a near impossibility, and the cars whizzing by?  They were a nightmare.  You get the idea.  But they were done moving--finally!--and ready to check in.

Five minutes later, the phone rang, and a dejected sounded Jackie told me that they weren't going to stay at my place.  "We don't feel comfortable in this neighborhood.  We don't feel safe."  I told her that I'd meet her down there and we could talk about her concerns.  So me and my Dad take off in the Camry to the property.

Jackie and her husband were ensconced in their car, about 60 feet from the house, with the windows tightly closed and the doors locked.  They both get out of the car and relay this story to me:

They walk up to the property and sitting on the stoop are a couple of kids.  Mr. Jackie asked what are they doing, sitting on these steps.  They have no business sitting on these steps.  Who exactly did they think they were, sitting on the steps?

One of the kids, Mr. Jackie said, "called him a bad name."  Right around this time, my neighbor across the street heard the commotion (apparently) opened his door and told the kids to go home.

Um, what did the kid say?

Mr. Jackie jutted out his chin, and declared, "He called me a CRACKER!!!!"

Before I had time to react, a large, black van pulled up.  It was the father of the two kids that had the exchange with Mr. Jackie.

"Bobby!!"  the guy in the van shouted (to a boy at the end of the street who was, at the most about 8).  "What did you say to this man?"  The kid said he didn't say anything.

Mr. Jackie (almost tearfully, I might add) wailed to the guy, "He called me a CRACKER!!"

"BOBBY!!!  WHAT. DID. YOU. CALL. THIS. MAN???"

"NOTHING!!!!!"

Since we were clearly at a stalemate, the guy in the van apologized again and drove away.

"We can't stay here.  It's not safe here," Mr. Jackie said.

"Don't you at least want to go inside the house," I asked.  "It's very nice and I think you would like it.  This neighborhood is actually very safe and I think you would feel better if you took a look at the house."

Jackie shoot her head, Mr. Jackie shook his head.

I should probably mention that all this time, my Dad has been in his Camry across the street from where Jackie and Mr. Jackie are parked.  But out of the corner of my eye, I see my Dad ease out of the car and start to inch toward the Jackies' car.

Jackie asked about alternate places to stay, so I suggested the Marriott up the street.  "And how do we go about getting our money back?"

I explained my cancellation policy to her, mentioning that it was on my site as well as the booking agent's site.  "So we won't get any of our money back?" Jackie wailed.  No, I replied.  I said I was very sorry but it's summer and a busy time and since she made the reservation I had turned people away.  I added that I was sorry that they felt uncomfortable but the house had been rented for nearly a year and no one felt uncomfortable and in fact I had a five-star rating from the people who stayed with me.

Now, I see my Dad is getting closer to the Jackie car and is smoking a cigarette all Cool Hand Luke-like.  I should mention that my Dad is an affable, genial person.  But you don't want to get him mad (trust me, I speak from experience).  Mr. Gentle Giant can morph into Commando Bill at the drop of a hat.  I remember thinking, well this is great, we officially have a three-ring circus.

Then Mr. Jackie intervened.  "Well, I can tell you what," he growled.  "You WON'T be getting a five-star rating from US!!!  Jackie, get in the car and LET'S GO!!!"

I went back to the car, where my Dad had returned.  He looks at me in a "what happened?" kind of way, and I explained that they weren't going to stay here.  "Some little kid down the street supposedly called him some kind of name." 

Jackie and Mr. Jackie took off, leaving behind a cloud of dust as they left for the safe security, and hopefully all Caucasian, Marriott Hotel.  They never left a review and I never heard from them again.