How I feel today

I imagine many of you are wondering how I feel today, having read the statement that Brian Chesky posted yesterday on his Airbnb blog. I thought I might best explain my reaction here, in my own words.

When I originally wrote my story, I did so as a personal account of a significant experience in my life, as a cautionary tale, and to help me process the emotions I was dealing with. That my blog piece has gone viral in the way that it has came as a shock to me, and was absolutely never my intention. But I am gratified nonetheless that the extent of public awareness my story generated has encouraged Airbnb to implement real change to its product, its service and its community of users.

I agree with Mr. Chesky's statement that Airbnb should have responded much more quickly to my urgent pleas for help, that they should have communicated with more sensitivity, and that they should have taken decisive action to help me feel safe during what has been a desperate time. Had they done so, and had these significant new policies been implemented from the very beginning, I could have been spared nearly six weeks now of disruption and displacement, and the hurt and exhaustion of having to face disparaging remarks, slander and harassment, my integrity being called into question, my character publicly trashed. I was at one time a victim of an awful crime, doing my best to cope. Today, in addition to that, I have unwittingly and unexpectedly become the target of an onslaught, being called a liar and much, much worse by both public and anonymous figures who have no first-hand knowledge whatsoever of the very decent person I am, nor any knowledge of what has transpired in the past several weeks. All of this has exponentially confounded the trauma I already felt, and has taken its toll both emotionally and physically, subjecting me to utter hell. So while Mr. Chesky's public apology to me is clearly a heartfelt one and certainly appreciated, and while I applaud the steps that Airbnb is taking to fulfill its commitment to safety and security, the reality for me is that the hardship continues. As will, no doubt, the nasty comments and unwarranted name-calling that have been thrown in my face.

Regarding the crime itself, I am taken aback by the amount of misinformation being spread and publicly stated about the criminal investigation, and I wish I could address it all. But at this time I am not comfortable sharing any further details about the investigation, as it is still ongoing. Believe me, I want resolution and criminal charges pressed more than anyone out there. If and when the justice process happens and comes to completion, I will write about it. I hope you will come back here in search of answers to the many questions that loom large. But most of all, I hope to get answers myself so that I can begin to move forward.

On a final note, I want to again thank everyone out there - my rock of a family, my loving friends, and the kindest of strangers - for their outpouring of support, love and encouragement throughout this ordeal, particularly those who have unsolicitedly spoken out in my defense. I couldn’t keep going - or writing - without you.

Airbnb Nightmare: No End In Sight

Somewhere around 1:00 am yesterday, my Airbnb.com horror story was picked up by Hacker News; to say this story has gone viral in the past two days would be the understatement of my life. I sit here now, taken aback and utterly astounded as I witness the internet in action, and watch my own story unfold across the Web, and across the world.

Yet as I read through the numerous websites, blog posts, news articles, reader comments and the recent statements made by representatives of Airbnb, I am struck by how much is being misconstrued from and stated about my story, and by the impressive number of doubters out there who are questioning the validity of my story – even the validity of my existence.

I recognize that my silence thus far has perhaps fed this storm, and I am sorry for that. But I have not written anything new on the subject in the past month for one simple reason: fear.

I was - and still am - scared of the unsettling fact that there are still psychotic criminals and identity thieves on the loose who already know much too much about me.

I was - and still am - scared of saying something that could jeopardize the ongoing criminal investigation.

And I was - but no longer am - scared of Airbnb’s reaction, the pressure and the veiled threat I have received from them since I initially blogged this story.

Ironic that my own tag line reads “I leap, the net appears”. Fear has never gotten me anywhere, and there is so much more that I need to say - and that you have every right to know. So here goes.

First, I want to clarify a few things I have read online, and address some of the falsehoods that have been directed toward me and my situation:

1. I have released no photographs related to the burglary. Any photos that have been used in the various articles and posts online are not photos of my apartment.

2. Other than occasionally sharing the link to my blog, I have made no statements to nor have I been interviewed by the press - yet. Any references to me, the burglary or my current situation thus far have been construed directly from my original blog post by the respective author(s).

3. I do exist. I am a real person using a nickname my parents stuck me with long ago. I do not work for the hotel industry, though I admit I love a Four Seasons as much as the next girl. Oh and on that note, I am female.

Next, I would like to address the article written by Airbnb founder Brian Chesky, published on TechCrunch on July 27, and provide the following clarifications. Quotes in bold are taken directly from Chesky’s article.

“On June 22nd, we learned that the home of one of our San Francisco hosts was vandalized by an Airbnb guest.”

Based on the delay in their response time, I have reason to believe that Airbnb did not learn of my situation until June 23rd.

“While we are not at liberty to discuss the details during the investigation, we understand that with our help, a suspect is now in custody, and our information will now become important evidence.”

As of today, July 28, I have received no confirmation from either the San Francisco Police Department or the District Attorney that any culprit is in custody for my case. One month ago an individual was apprehended, however as far as I know, this person was transferred to a neighboring jurisdiction for prosecution of previous crimes, and no charges or arrest warrant has been issued for my case within San Francisco County. If this has changed and Chesky’s statement is in fact true, I have not been made aware by city officials.

Word of caution to my fellow Bay Area residents: I have reason to believe that there were multiple people involved in the burglary of my home, not just one culprit. Take heed and be careful.

“We have been in close contact with her ever since, and have worked with the authorities to help find a resolution.”

If the “her” he is referring to is me, then the first part of this statement is false (the second I cannot attest to). During the first week of my nightmare, the customer service team at Airbnb was - as I stated in my June 29 blog post – helpful, caring and supportive. In particular, one customer service manager - and the company’s freelance photographer - were wonderfully kind to me, and both should know how grateful I am.

On June 29 I posted my story, and June 30 thus marks the last day I heard from the customer service team regarding my situation. In fact, my appointed “liaison” from Airbnb stopped contacting me altogether just three days after I reported the crime, on June 25, for reasons that are unknown to me. I have heard nothing from her since.

I blogged my story, and all these kind and supportive people just ... disappeared.

And since June 30? On this same day, I received a personal call from one of the co-founders of Airbnb. We had a lengthy conversation, in which he indicated having knowledge of the (previously mentioned) person who had been apprehended by the police, but that he could not discuss the details or these previous cases with me, as the investigation was ongoing. He then addressed his concerns about my blog post, and the potentially negative impact it could have on his company’s growth and current round of funding. During this call and in messages thereafter, he requested that I shut down the blog altogether or limit its access, and a few weeks later, suggested that I update the blog with a “twist" of good news so as to “complete[s] the story”.

Since June 30, this co-founder has been the only person at Airbnb from whom I have received occasional contact regarding my situation, his messages directed primarily at my blog post and its activity on Twitter. (Note: a second co-founder did email me for the first time around 2am yesterday, suggesting we meet for coffee as he “would enjoy meeting” me. He made no inquiry into my current emotional state, my safety or my well being.)

I have never met in person anyone from Airbnb. And I have not had any communication whatsoever with Brian Chesky.

“Once our host’s safety was secured, our attention moved to further strengthening our system.”

I am not clear here if Chesky is trying to convey the message that Airbnb was involved in securing my safety, but the company was not. My safety was secured by my own efforts. I arranged alternate accommodations, in the safety of a friend’s home. I arranged and paid for my own transportation while dislocated (with Airbnb's assurances that this expense would be compensated - which it has not been). I contacted the police, and insisted on a visit from CSI to dust for prints. I called a locksmith and had my locks changed.

I alone have spent hours on the phone with banks and credit bureaus, securing my identity, credit cards and bank accounts. I alone have spent hours with DAs, Victims Services and SFPD, trying to learn what I need to do to protect myself. It was suggested to me by the DA’s office that I seek restraining orders and do whatever I needed to do to ensure my own safety. I have been doing so ever since. Airbnb has not assisted me in securing my safety, if that is the implication being made in Chesky's article.

“We are upset that this happened but believe that our platform and staff were able to make a positive contribution to this unfortunate case”

The positive contribution mentioned in this statement might very well refer to the criminal investigation and communication with police; I can’t know for sure. But the staff at Airbnb has not made a positive contribution to me personally or my situation in any way, particularly since June 30.

Look, despite what some of you are saying, I am not an idiot. I understand why Airbnb called me and asked me to bring this story to an end; it is in their best profitable interest to do so. Unfortunately for me – 5 weeks and counting – there is no end in sight. Too much about this case remains unknown and unresolved, and according to both the District Attorneys and the police, it could be many more months before the criminal investigation moves forward.

In the meantime, I am still displaced, bouncing between friends’ homes, clutching my pillow and what’s left of my normalcy. I spend my mornings recalling nightmares and breathing through panic attacks, and my afternoons scouring the city’s pawn shops in the vain hope that I might recover some of my stolen treasures. I do not feel anything close to safe. I do not feel anything close to whole. Today I remain broken, but with the firm belief that in time, and with the support of friends, family, and a generally supportive public, this too shall pass and I will be made whole again.

For those of you who have offered (sometimes scathing, painful) criticism, I can do nothing but respect your freedom of speech, as it’s the same freedom that has allowed my own story to be heard.

For those of you who have expressed your sympathies and support, I cannot begin to express how much your comments have meant to me. Thank you.

And for those who have so generously suggested a donation fund be set up to help me recover, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and suggest that instead, you keep the money and use it to book yourself into a nice, safe hotel room the next time you travel. You’ll be glad you did.

Violated: A traveler’s lost faith, a difficult lesson learned

I am crouched low on the carpeted steps of my apartment building's old staircase, bent over into something resembling the fetal position. There is a skylight overhead; the sun's hazy glare makes me want to close my eyes, and not have to see for a while. But instead, I take this opportunity - with head resting heavily on the step above me - to record this moment in writing.

I am just half a flight away from the top floor, where my home is located. But I don't have the mental energy to take those last few steps into my apartment. It's too creepy in there anyway.

Three difficult days ago, I returned home from an exhausting week of business travel to an apartment that I no longer recognized. To an apartment that had been ransacked.

With heart pounding and stomach churning, I slowly swung the door open as both a pungent odor and the full realization of what had occurred washed over me: this wasn't just a random break-in. My home had been burglarized, vandalized and thoroughly trashed by a "traveler" I connected with via the online rental agency, airbnb.com.

I would be remiss if I didn’t pause here to emphasize that the customer service team at airbnb.com has been wonderful, giving this crime their full attention. They have called often, expressing empathy, support, and genuine concern for my welfare. They have offered to help me recover emotionally and financially, and are working with SFPD to track down these criminals. I do believe the folks at airbnb.com when they tell me this has never happened before in their short history, that this is a one-off case. I do believe that maybe 97% of airbnb.com's users are good and honest people. Unfortunately I got the other 3%. Someone was bound to eventually, I suppose, and there will be others. For this reason, I felt compelled to get my story out as soon as possible – as a warning to travelers and renters everywhere – even though this case remains under investigation, and the final chapter of this story remains unwritten.


What I Know

There is little I know at this stage, but I am slowly putting the pieces together. Someone named Dj Pattrson (was it a guy? A girl? I still don't know – but I have noticed much too late that the person misspelled their own last name) came into my home earlier this month (apparently with several others, according to witnesses) and set out on what I believe to be the carefully-planned theft and destruction of my home and my identity.  With an entire week living in my apartment, Dj and friends had more than enough time to search through literally everything inside, to rifle through every document, every photo, every drawer, every storage container and every piece of clothing I own, essentially turning my world inside out, and leaving a disgusting mess behind.

They smashed a hole through a locked closet door, and found the passport, cash, credit card and grandmother's jewelry I had hidden inside. They took my camera, my iPod, an old laptop, and my external backup drive filled with photos, journals... my entire life. They found my birth certificate and social security card, which I believe they photocopied - using the printer/copier I kindly left out for my guests’ use. They rifled through all my drawers, wore my shoes and clothes, and left my clothing crumpled up in a pile of wet, mildewing towels on the closet floor. They found my coupons for Bed Bath & Beyond and used the discount, along with my Mastercard, to shop online.  Despite the heat wave, they used my fireplace and multiple Duraflame logs to reduce mounds of stuff (my stuff??) to ash – including, I believe, the missing set of guest sheets I left carefully folded for their comfort. Yet they were stupid and careless enough to leave the flue closed; dirty gray ash now covered every surface inside.

They did weird stuff too: moving things around in a spooky, psychotic kind of way - creepy little things that I am still discovering as I dig through the wreckage - like cutting the tags off my pillows, and hanging a painting of Paris on the wall that I had never hung before... probably while wearing my now-missing Ugg boots and Roots cap.

All the while, Dj Pattrson was sending me friendly emails, thanking me for being such a great host, for respecting his/her privacy…. telling me how much he/she was enjoying my beautiful apartment bathed in sunlight, how much he/she particularly loved the “little loft area” upstairs… with an “lol” closing one sentence, just for good measure. It makes me sick to my stomach to think now of these emails.

The kitchen was a disaster - the sink piled high with filthy dishes, pots and pans burnt out and ruined. Comet Cleanser was dumped everywhere; the kitchen counters, wood furniture, my gorgeous new bed frame, my desk, my printer… all were doused in powdered bleach. The death-like smell emanating from the bathroom was frightening (and still is) and the bathroom sink was caked with a crusty yellow substance. Various pairs of my gloves were strewn about – leather, dishwashing and otherwise – I imagine in a weak attempt to cover up fingerprints. Whoever these people were, they were living large and having one hell of a time for an entire week inside my home, unwatched, unchecked, free to do whatever destruction they wished. And damn, did they do a lot of it.


This was my home

I am reeling. How could this happen? Why did this happen? Despite it not being in New York... I LOVED my apartment nonetheless. It was my own private retreat, my sunny, bright, cozy loft that I would melt into on those rare occasions when I wasn't traveling. The space was simply decorated, minimalist enough to reflect a home life that was all mine, a place that was peaceful, and safe.

It was several months after moving in that I finally felt ready to try renting it out while I traveled. (I had rented out my apartment several times while living in New York, through Craigslist no less, and always with exceptional results). Now, I convinced myself that anyone would love and respect this lovely space as much as I did. It seemed silly to let a perfectly good apartment sit empty while I traveled, when there were so many visitors to San Francisco in need of a place to stay, who wanted to experience a city as I preferred to: in a local’s home, outside the tourist bubble of a hotel. Anyway I liked the idea of someone being there, looking after my thirsty houseplant, and of course the opportunity to earn some extra cash was more than appealing. I live in an expensive city on an inconsistent freelancer's salary. It isn't so easy to get by every month, and when someone is willing to pay what amounts to half the monthly rent for a one-week stay, well... who could resist?

Then along came airbnb.com, with its accolades in the media and great reviews, and it seemed like the perfect solution! Certainly it's a brilliant idea, offering a controlled and seemingly low-risk environment in which travelers and hosts can connect and exchange - the Facebook of couch-surfing, so to speak – that appears to eliminate all the insecurity and randomness of using Craigslist. In exchange for using the site, the service fee of only 3% is a small price to pay for access to such a large inventory of great apartments worldwide. I first gave it a try as a “traveler”; the exceptionally positive experience renting an airbnb.com property in Sydney last month was all I needed to sell me on the concept, and I soon thereafter listed my own place for a week of upcoming travel.

Yet now I ask myself this: for what, exactly, did I pay a service fee to airbnb.com? What did I get in exchange for my 20-something dollars? What was the advantage of using this service over Craigslist, which is free? Ironically airbnb.com’s site states “the promise of our site is that it is entirely transparent” when in reality, it is not. And therein lies the fundamental, though not immediately apparent, difference: on Craigslist, I am warned loudly and repeatedly that use of the site is at my own risk. I am encouraged to take certain precautions, and I have the ability to do so by gaining quick access to the email addresses, phone numbers, and other identifying information of the person(s) I am communicating with, all of which can be researched and at least somewhat verified by means of basic internet searches. Alternatively, airbnb.com tightly controls the communication between host and traveler, disallowing the exchange of personal contact information until the point in which a reservation is already confirmed and paid for. By hindering my ability to research the person who will rent my home, there is an implication that airbnb.com has already done the research for me, and has eliminated the investigative work that Craigslist requires. In effect, the friendly, community-based site with its Golden Rules creates a reasonable expectation that some basic screening of its users has occurred, and speaks little to the risks involved, primarily within the very small print of the lengthy Terms of Service. Thus by the time this reservation was confirmed and I was given Dj’s email address and phone number, I was on a plane heading East, and he/she was armed with my welcoming instructions on where to pick up the keys to my apartment.


Blame and violation

My first call was to 911. I stood by, horrified and hysterical, as 2 officers from SFPD checked every corner, every closet with guns wielded. My next call was to airbnb.com - I tried their "urgent" line, their email address, their general customer support line. I heard nothing - no response whatsoever - until the following day, 14 sleepless hours later, and only after a desperate call to an airbnb.com freelancer I happen to know helped my case get some attention. (This has been my most urgent request of the agency: that they immediately institute a 24-hour/day customer support line. A 24-hour/day business absolutely needs this in place.)

As I later watched CSI dust for prints, I knew that my time in this apartment was over. Although I had the locks changed (the creeps still have my apartment keys) I feel exposed. I stand on my balcony watching people walk by, wondering if "that person there" could be one of them.

I can't stay here much longer. The feeling of having been violated is overwhelming. The apartment’s energy - once light and airy - now feels thick and disquieting. I've had the place scrubbed and sterilized, every inch of it. I've burned candles and white sage, repotted my (near death - they didn't water it) houseplant, and bought myself some bright flowers. I've tried, but I can't settle back in. I can't use a water glass without thinking it was used by them. I can't put on a pair of underwear without picturing their filthy hands rifling around in my dresser drawers. I can’t ever be comfortable here again.

Despite this very fresh trauma, I can still recognize airbnb.com to be a brilliant concept that fills a much-needed hole in the traveler market, and based on their amazingly kind, caring response and support throughout the past few days, they have proven to me that they are an honest company with pure, good intentions. But I do think theirs was a concept that was executed much too quickly, and that some basic screening and security measures must be instituted as soon as possible, that some basic efforts be made to help prevent this from happening to another unsuspecting host.

I certainly cannot and do not blame the agency for what has occurred. If anything, I blame myself. In retrospect, and as I read through my initial email exchanges with Dj, I recognize now that something was “off” in his manner of communication, that I trusted too easily, and probably did not do my due diligence to properly protect myself and my home. And so I am frustrated with myself, and dealing with feelings of guilt and self-doubt, wondering how I could have let my guard down. But if we are going to go down that path, if we are going to turn the blame on me, then a woman who gets raped may as well blame herself for wearing a short skirt and heels. Victims don’t ask to be victims, and pointing fingers back at them is less than helpful. I am struggling now to not do this to myself.

And perhaps similar to the feelings of a victim of rape, the hardest, and maybe saddest, part of this is the recognition that whoever disappeared with my grandmother's bracelets, my hard-earned dollars and pieces of my identity stole something else, something that cannot be replaced: they stole my spirit. I get angry when I realize I will never again be who I've always been before, someone who lived strong and free by the creed that people are essentially good, that if you think optimistically, trust others, and have faith in the world around you, it will take care of you in return. Those who know me have witnessed the way in which I have always lived: with a belief that if I live my life in the best and most way honest way possible, everything will be ok. Yet in the breath of a moment, that just... disappeared. I have no faith anymore. I don't trust anymore. I don't know if I ever will again.

I don't know how this will all turn out. I am trying now just to maintain momentum, to keep up my energy and work closely with the incredible investigative team at SFPD. I've picked through gallons of garbage, searching for bits of evidence and clues. I've spent hours on the phone with banks, credit card companies, the credit lending bureaus. I'm taking all steps necessary to prevent the likelihood of identity theft, a crime that will linger and affect my life for years to come.

I've had to miss several days of work and essentially put my life on hold. I haven't slept or eaten properly in days, and I'm exhausted. My strength is gone, and as I pick through the wreckage, clean up this mess and try to piece my life back together, I realize the only thing that sounds appealing now is to go spend a few months near a beach, somewhere calm and sunny. Somewhere like Mexico, or Bali.

But ideas like this, adventurous and enticing travel ideas that I've had so many times before, are now plagued with a question I've never before had to worry too much about:

How would I find a place to stay?

****

SCAMMER ALERT - TRAVELERS BEWARE!

This is the contact information provided to me at the time the reservation was confirmed:

Dj Pattrson

withoutvirtual.noreality@gmail.com

971-217-7917

New Year. New Home.

As 2011 sets in, I find myself curled up on a new couch in a new apartment in a not-so-new city, reading today’s (and yesterday’s) New York Times, and listening to the rain fall against the skylight overhead. A Duraflame log burns in the fireplace, a bar of dark chocolate sits half-eaten on the counter, and a lull of soft music whispers from the stereo. I am cozy, comfortable and perfectly content. I am home.  

If you had asked me on this day one year ago – a day spent nursing a mild hangover in a chilly apartment in Valencia, Spain, following a random night out partying with the America's Cup crowd – I never would have predicted I would return to San Francisco. But somewhere around August, one very long year of footloose, fancy free, home free (or more to the point, homeless) adventure became suddenly and completely unbearable.

In desperate search of something that resembled roots, I found my way back to a city that I know well and had once loved. A wide network of friends and colleagues made the return uncommonly easy, and to all of you who are reading this now, I thank you for welcoming me back with open arms. I quickly rented a place of my own and began to settle in – unpacking dusty boxes, unloading suitcases and scouring the internet for furniture. Something along the lines of a home began to take shape, and with it came that invaluable feeling of being at peace.

The first half of 2010 was spent trotting the globe from Valencia to Vancouver to Paris to Dubai, then back again. My passport and suitcase were my most prized possessions. A mere few months later, an apartment of my own became the one thing I needed most. As I reflect on this now, I am reminded - once again - of the simple truth that LIFE HAPPENS. We don’t always know what’s ahead, and we shouldn’t always try to know. Unexpected and unanticipated paths unfold before us, and if we are willing to take notice and walk along, they may just lead us to the one place that is exactly where we are supposed to be.

No... it's no Manhattan. And it certainly isn't Paris. The weather generally sucks, there's no proper subway system, and good luck finding anywhere to eat, anything that's open (or anyone who's awake!) after 11:00 pm. But San Francisco is a special place, and for the time being anyway, it is where I am supposed to be. For the time being anyway, it's my home. And - surprisingly or not - a pretty great home it's turning out to be.