Unfortunately, I seem to attract the most chaotic roommates.
Let me set the scene: one former roommate tried to throw away my furniture while I was out of town. Another got taken to rehab after attacking my roommates. One stranger slept in my bed before we even met, stole the artwork off my walls, and devoured my entire box of Costco granola bars. So yeah, I got pickier about who I live with.
I figured that after getting married, I'd finally be done with that chapter. (Spoiler alert: this is not about my husband—he’s the literal best.) But here I am, still dodging drama.
My husband and I run an Airbnb. We rent out rooms for both short and mid-term stays. It’s been a learning curve, but things are finally running smoothly. And not having traditional roommates—just my amazing husband—has been a dream.
Tenants, though? That’s another story.
Enter: Steven
On paper, Steven (name changed for privacy reasons) was the ideal tenant. He had a stable job, was quiet, clean, and basically just needed a bed to sleep in. He and my husband bonded over their military history. His work paid for his relocation costs and rent. Seemed legit. Although I didn’t love his vibe (a little arrogant and proud), the rent was guaranteed, so we moved forward.
And at first, all was fine. The rent came in for the first month. Then month two rolled around—nothing. He said his company was having issues with Zelle, and he sent us a receipt confirming payment was “on the way.” But… no dice. Every week brought another excuse. We agreed he could pay partially, and his employer would reimburse him. He promised it’d be resolved soon.
So we started reaching out to his references including his military unit and his employer. Crickets. It all started to feel…off.
After three months, we let Steven know that he was being evicted. No rent, no room. He ignored our calls, so we left a formal eviction letter on his door. Not two minutes later, he showed up—letter mysteriously gone. My husband went to talk with him, but Steven acted like the whole thing was a joke.
Five days letter, no payment. So we filed to take him to court. He was smug, dismissive, and clearly didn’t think we’d follow through. I was ready to watch him crash and burn. (It takes a lot to get me angry, and this...this was a lot.)
But three days before the court date—boom. He pays. Everything. Nearly $10,000. We were stunned—and relieved. We canceled the hearing and moved on.
Then I got an email.
Subject line: “Steven So-and-so: BOLO.”
It was from a stranger named Justin. He somehow tracked me down (not easy, since I’m not publicly linked to the Airbnb). In his email, Justin warned me that Steven was a con artist, had claimed to own my house, and had scammed people out of over $50,000. The military and career credentials? Fake. He was dishonorably discharged. No real job. Just lies.
We got on the phone with Justin. Turns out, he and his friends had recently uncovered the truth about Steven, who had been stealing and deceiving everyone around him. He was a full-blown grifter.
So why did Steven pay us? Easy: we were a problem for him. If we’d gone to court, the mountain of lies would’ve surfaced. Paying us off was a way to cut his losses and disappear before the bigger stuff caught up to him.
Thankfully, he’s gone now—and our screening process is much, much tighter.
Lessons Learned
This whole ordeal was equal parts stressful and surreal, but it taught us a lot—namely, trust your gut, document everything, and never underestimate how far someone will go to fake a whole identity. Running an Airbnb isn’t for the faint of heart, but at least now we have one heck of a story…and one fewer scammer living down the hall.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life has a wild sense of humor. I thought I’d left troublesome roommates in the dust, but apparently, they just evolved into better-dressed, rent-dodging impostors with LinkedIn profiles. Running an Airbnb has given us flexibility, community, and some unforgettable stories—but it’s also reminded me that even the most official-looking tenants can come with hidden red flags.
Now, I ask more questions, trust my instincts sooner, and never underestimate the power of a well-documented paper trail. Because while you can’t prevent every scammer from showing up at your doorstep, you can make it a whole lot harder for them to stay.
And to Steven—if you’re somehow reading this despite the fake name and vague details—congrats. You made the blog. Now go scamper off to your next make-believe job, and maybe, just maybe, consider a hobby that doesn’t involve federal charges.
