It takes guts and strategy to get through an Ohio winter. For some, it’s winter sports. For charitable souls, it’s shoveling the neighbor’s driveway. And for obsessive others, it’s surfing the Vacation Rentals By Owner (VRBO) website hour after hour to find a place to escape next February.
I must confess I belong to the last group. Not a day went by during February when I did not log in and peek like a voyeur into the Florida rooms and lanais of stucco structures surrounded by palms.
“Look at this one!” I’d shout to my husband.
“Nice,” he’d reply, with the enthusiasm of a bridegroom picking out a wedding cake topper a year in advance. “Don’t you think we’re a little early?”
Ha! That he’d even ask the question told me he was naïve about snowbirding. Two days on VRBO and I’d already figured out that every shivering baby boomer in the U.S. was lusting after a couple of available condos on the Gulf of Mexico.
“We must be late,” I said. “All the good ones are taken.”
By “good ones,” I meant those with at least one bedroom and an indoor toilet, heat, running water, WiFi, no pets or smoking, no minimum rental of 30 days, and a daily price tag that’s less than a budget hotel room.
By the end of the month, I’d only found 10 “good ones” that were advertised as available. Of which none were actually available, at least according to the owners who took a moment to respond.
Their answers fell in categories. Previous renters come back year after year. Someone had “tentatively” snatched it up before me, but please check back in a month or two. They will probably stay in the unit themselves next year, but won’t know till Thanksgiving. Bad news for a compulsive planner.
OK. There were glimmers of hope. One heart-stopping moment, I had my husband pause a gangland shooting during a Sopranos rerun when I saw the word “available!” in a VRBO message on my phone. Unfortunately, within moments came the second e-mail: “Sorry….” The owner had apparently hit the wrong button.
I got so far with one as to put down a deposit to reserve it. But within the required 24 hours came an e-mail that the reservation had not been accepted and I would get my money back in another 72 hours.
That particular misadventure convinced me that I needed to fill out the profile of ourselves that VRBO had asked for since Day One, so that potential landlords would understand just how erudite and charming we were. But even though I presented us as the tenants we would like to have – compulsive cleaner-uppers who are allergic to smoke and animals – still nothing.
Admittedly, I am picky. In one, I did not go for “No smoking except on the back stoop” because I imagined the smoke would have come in on the shorts and T shirts of previous renters and cause the living room couch to reek. I also didn’t trust the “No pets” condo that pictured a Bernese Mountain Dog lounging by the large screen TV.
With the March weather showing promise, I am relieved to say the compulsion is slacking off.
“Ha!” I tell those faceless condo owners on the Gulf. “Look what we’re getting for no extra charge.”
Copyright 2015 Pat Snyder
