Gina Heslop
One night, my husband and I were staying at an Airbnb. It was midnight, and a small, round device on the ceiling caught our attention.
It had a blinking light, and we immediately thought it might be a hidden camera. Wanting privacy, my husband covered it with a towel, and we went to sleep.
Around 2 a.m., our peaceful night was shattered. The door flew open, and the Airbnb owner stormed in. He was in his late fifties, wearing a Hawaiian-print shirt, and looked both furious and exhausted. His voice was sharp as he yelled, “You idiots, this is a fire alarm!”
We sat up in bed, completely stunned. The owner’s eyes darted between us and the towel-covered device. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” he asked, his voice filled with panic.
Still half-asleep, I managed to ask, “Wait, what?” The owner groaned, marched over, and pulled the towel off the device. It wasn’t a hidden camera. It was a standard white fire alarm with a small blinking light.
He explained, “This is a smoke detector! It’s a legal requirement for rental properties. You covered it, and the system automatically alerted me to a malfunction.”
I didn’t know what to say. I opened my mouth, then closed it, then tried again. “Okay, but—” I started. The owner cut me off, his voice sharp, “But what? Did you really think I was watching you sleep? Why would I want to do that?!”
Embarrassed, I couldn’t find a good answer. My husband, still trying to make sense of things, said, “To be fair, it was blinking. It looked suspicious.” The owner let out a laugh, “It blinks because it’s working. You know what would be suspicious? If it didn’t blink!”
Silence filled the room. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I tried to explain, “We’ve read stories about hidden cameras in Airbnbs. You can’t blame us for being cautious.”
The owner sighed, rubbing his temples. “I get it. But if I wanted to secretly film you, do you think I’d put a camera right in the middle of the ceiling, in plain sight?”
When he put it that way, our theory did sound ridiculous. My husband and I exchanged a glance. “Well… when you put it like that,” I mumbled. The owner threw his hands up. “Thank you!”
Hoping to change the subject, I asked, “So… the system alerted you? Does that mean—” He cut me off, “Yes, I got a call at 2 a.m. from the security system.
It said there was a fire alarm failure. I had to get out of bed, drive all the way here, and burst in like a maniac just to stop you from suffocating yourselves in your sleep.”
“Suffocating ourselves?” I asked, confused. “Yes!” he said. “Covering a fire alarm is dangerous! If there was a real fire, the alarm wouldn’t go off, and you’d be in serious danger.”
Another long silence. I let out a weak laugh. “Okay, so… that was a big misunderstanding.” The owner groaned, “Yeah. You think?”
My husband tried to lighten the mood. He shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “Hey, at least now you know your system works.” The owner just stared, “That’s not— That’s not how this works.” My husband nodded, “Okay, fair.”
We apologized profusely. “We just panicked,” I said. The owner took a deep breath and let it go. “Fine. Just leave it alone. Please.” We nodded, promising not to touch the alarm again.
The owner turned to leave, mumbling about his ruined sleep schedule. He slammed the door behind him. We sat there for a moment, staring at the now towel-free, clearly not a hidden camera smoke detector.
My husband finally broke the silence. “So, uh… should we mention this in the review?” I grabbed a pillow and swatted him. “Absolutely not.”
We learned a valuable lesson. It’s good to be cautious, but sometimes paranoia makes fools of us all. And yes, we left the owner a very apologetic review.
