Some restrictions may apply
Mi casa es su casa, we say in our mangled Spanglish, but what do we mean? As Kathleen Hughes of the Wall Street Journal (October 31, 2011) discovered, one never has no many friends as when one has property they covet:
We love our friends dearly. But do we really want them in our bed?
Uh – no?
Anybody here paying rent?
That’s a dilemma faced by many of those who buy second homes or retirement homes in desirable locales. [And who’s going to buy in an undesirable locale? – Ed.]
I hear it’s convenient to commuting
As more and more Americans buy vacation homes, including some that are simply handy as a pied-a-veekend, we have more and more properties that are well located in places people want to be, and empty most of the time.
The typical owner spends only 39 nights a year in a vacation home. That leaves 326 days a year up for grabs.
The second residence is used about 12% of the year, or one night in eight. The rest of the time, the property can become a natural target for property-needers, people who’d like to be in an attractive place without having to pay for it.
I want to be … where you are
My husband and I recently learned this the hard way buying a loft in Manhattan as a future retirement spot.
We suddenly found ourselves facing a series of hints or outright requests from friends to use the space when we’re not there—as a crash pad.
Stop right there. Use the space when you’re not there? Aside from its presumption (We’re friends, you have what I need, so you’ll let me use it free, won’t you?),
Hey, we’re friends, aren’t we?
“Great! Now we’ll have a place to stay in New York!” was the enthusiastic response of friends, colleagues and even a few distant acquaintances.
These sound less like friends than moochers-with-a-smile.
I’m just borrowing this shirt
We quickly learned that saying No, or just failing to offer hospitality, can be very awkward, creating tensions in friendships that had never known a cross moment.
Awkwardness arises either because those people are merely ersatz friends, or because the owner has woolly and undefined thinking about when she will let people stay in her empty second space.
Our loft is in a Manhattan co-op with very strict rules, and we signed a lease agreement that specifies who can visit and for how long.
“Why can’t you just give me the keys?” asked one friend at a party after explaining that he and his wife were heading to Manhattan to see a play. When my husband politely declined, sputtering something about the strict co-op rules, our friend said, “I’m not talking to you anymore!” and walked away.
Assets reveal the casual acquaintances from those who are indeed our friends. Can you imagine anyone you’d want to know doing that?
“Everyone you have ever known will want to pass through here,” warned my downstairs neighbor.
Perhaps we all have many fewer friends than we thought we had. Adding money and assets to one side of a friendship can imbalance it, and seldom for the better.
“It’s important to let the person with the home lead,” says Jan Yager, the author of “When Friendship Hurts.”
You only hurt the ones you can exploit?
She considers it “very rude and presumptuous” to put someone in the position of having to say no.
It is, and it’s all too common.
More people seem to be heading for the same social quicksand. There are roughly 7.9 million vacation homes in the U.S., according to the National Association of Realtors, and the recent plummet in housing prices is leading more people to consider taking the leap.
You sure I’ve got a safety net?
Maybe – that sounds like an ever-hopeful realtor talking.
Where prices are always going to rise … tomorrow
How do you avoid having your lifestyle, not to mention your relationships, ruined when friends and family start to vie for free use of your home?
It’s not always clear to homeowners what their own limits are—until a crasher pushes the envelope.
Most of us are accommodating; we seek consensus and equanimity with our friends. When we’re confronted with someone pushy, our instinct is usually to give ground. Then there are difficult people like me or the Boss, who come up with rules beforehand.
The happiest ones, the minority, find it relatively easy to set limits and boundaries. They may be willing to share the place occasionally, but they don’t hesitate to say, “Sorry, it’s for family only,” or, “Sorry, it’s not available.” Some don’t mention the property to friends at all.
Rules you don’t enforce are worse than useless. Rules you don’t even envision mean you cannot possibly have rules, so all your boundaries are fuzzy.
I set limits
[Many] of us—those concerned with pleasing others—may hand over the keys only to be faced with repeat visitors, time-consuming arrangements, damaged homes and a total loss of privacy. And that’s on top of the mortgage and maintenance costs.
Money can always be the distinguisher. You may be my friend, but you are gaining significant value by staying in my place. I may be your friend but it’s costing me something to have you here – and even if the capital cost is sunk (because I bought the house without planning to charge you a room fee), there are all the marginal little expenses (food, utilities) plus the risk and wear-and-tear.
A brave few don’t hesitate to ask guests to chip in to help cover costs, averting resentment (at least on the owners’ part).
Rent also serves as a social boundary line.
Beyond this point, you’re trespassing
It may be concessionary (far less than market), or subject-to-availability, or predicated on the guest performing services in-kind, but money as a medium of exchange enables people to express how much they value certain things. Money clarifies.
Bob Spence, the developer of the Palms, a private-residence club in Costa Rica, says he has let about 30 friends stay free in vacation homes he has owned in San Francisco, Lake Tahoe and Oregon. He and his wife created a Welcome Sheet that talks about how finicky they are. They back this up with 5×7 laminated cards listing the rules: “When you finish showering, use the squeegee.”
Though Mr. Spence may be finicky, by announcing his particulars up front, he offers his guests a social contract: stay for free (monetary value) if you accept my guidelines (performance value).
That was going fairly well. But then a few friends wanted to use the homes over and over again. “It’s not available anymore,” said Mr. Spence.
That’s why rules evolve, to address less-likely behaviors.
“It’s a little awkward,” he concedes.
People value only what they pay for. Our selfish capacity to freeload will expand continuously until it bumps against a limit.
Look, I do my share around here
After Richard Tuggle, a Santa Monica, Calif., screenwriter [he wrote Escape from Alcatraz – Ed.], inherited his parents’ home in Jupiter Island, Fla., 10 years ago, he rented it out part time. But he found friends started to tag along when he went there for holidays. He hasn’t actually invited anyone, but friends say, “Oh, when are you going to Jupiter Island? We might want to come when you’re there.”
“I had eight freeloaders over Thanksgiving, Christmas and spring,” he says with a laugh. “The freeloader list seems to be growing each year.”
Rent, even modest rent, is self-defense against being freeloaded upon.
Are you – freeloading? Well, are ya, punk?
So far, Mr. Tuggle is happy to have company in the two-bedroom home, a five-minute walk from the beach. But he does take note of the way guests show their gratitude. “If they leave a bike as a gift, they are welcome back,” he says. “If they just leave hair in the tub, they’re not.”
Formalizing gratitude is why we invented money.
Did I hear a thank-you?
