My Landlord Made Me Host His Family for Thanksgiving Dinner, Then Billed Me for Damages They Caused
When Thanksgiving Chaos Invades: How I Taught My Landlord an Unforgettable Lesson
Imagine being forced to host a Thanksgiving dinner you never agreed to, only to receive a jaw-dropping bill for the chaos left behind. When my landlord pushed me too far, I decided to serve up a plan he’d never forget.
It all began with an email. I was sipping my morning coffee when I saw Greg’s name pop up in my inbox. Greg was my landlord—usually reasonable, but this time, his request was beyond absurd. The subject line read: “Thanksgiving Proposal.”
Curious, I clicked on it, and my jaw dropped.
“Hey Sarah, my house is still under renovation. Would you mind hosting Thanksgiving dinner for my family at your place? It’ll just be one day, and they’re only twenty people. Thanks a ton!”
Twenty people? In my house? This had to be a joke. My home was small, peaceful, and definitely not built for hosting a Thanksgiving mob. “He can’t be serious,” I muttered.
Without hesitation, I typed back: “Sorry, Greg. That won’t work for me. I can’t host that many people.”
Moments later, my phone buzzed. It was Greg.
“Hey, Sarah!” he began with his overly cheery tone—the one he used when he wanted something. “Got your email. Listen, it’s really just for one day. My family won’t be any trouble.”
“Greg, I said no,” I replied firmly. “That’s too many people. I’m not comfortable with it.”
His tone shifted, laced with condescension. “Well, the lease includes a clause about cooperating with landlord needs during renovations,” he said. I realized it was vague enough for Greg to exploit.
My stomach sank. “Are you saying I have no choice?”
“Technically, yeah,” he chuckled. “It won’t be that bad. Just a few hours, and they’ll be gone before you know it.”
Reluctantly, I caved. “Fine. But if anything goes wrong, you’re responsible.”
“You’re the best, Sarah! Trust me, it’ll be fine,” Greg said, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.
Thanksgiving Mayhem
The chaos arrived on Thanksgiving, not in a trickle, but a flood. First came the adults, balancing trays of food and clinking bottles. Then the kids—so many kids—turned my living room into a playground. And finally, there was Max, a Labrador with muddy paws, who immediately destroyed my flower beds.
“Greg, you didn’t mention a dog,” I hissed.
“Oh, that’s Max. He’s harmless,” he replied casually as Max bolted after a squirrel, trampling my garden.
The adults sprawled on my couch, plates in hand, dripping gravy onto the cushions. The kids spilled juice on the carpet and shattered a vase. My kitchen became a battlefield of dirty dishes and discarded food. By the time someone snapped my kitchen faucet clean off, I was teetering on the edge of a breakdown.
Eight hours. They stayed for eight hours.
When the last guest left, my house looked like a war zone. The garden was ruined, the walls had greasy handprints, and my faucet was beyond repair. Tears pricked my eyes as I collapsed onto the couch, surrounded by the wreckage of my once-cozy home.
The Bill That Broke the Camel’s Back
A few days later, I sent Greg a detailed message about the damages: the garden, the faucet, the stains on the couch. I expected an apology. What I got instead was an email titled: “Damages Invoice.”
Inside was a bill for $1,300.
“Hey Sarah, since you hosted, the damages fall on you. It’s in the lease. Please send payment by Friday. Thanks.”
My hands trembled with fury. “The audacity,” I hissed.
I called Greg immediately. “You’re billing me for damages your family caused?” I snapped.
“Well, you were the host,” he replied smugly. “It’s your responsibility.”
I hung up, seething. He thought he could bully me because he was the landlord. But I had a plan, and it was time to fight back.
Serving Justice Cold
Greg prided himself on his five-star landlord rating. It was his badge of honor, his claim to fame on local review sites. I knew exactly how to hit him where it hurt.
I gathered evidence—photos of the broken faucet, the ruined garden, and the stained couch. I logged onto every landlord review platform Greg used to brag about his properties.
In meticulous detail, I recounted the Thanksgiving fiasco:
“Greg forced me to host his family’s Thanksgiving dinner due to his renovations. Twenty people invaded my home, destroyed my property, and he billed me $1,300 for the damages. Future tenants, beware: Greg’s sense of responsibility ends where his convenience begins.”
I posted the reviews, attaching the email with his damning words: “You were the host, it’s your responsibility.”
The fallout was swift. Greg’s five-star rating plummeted. Comments poured in as former tenants shared similar horror stories. His reputation crumbled.
The Reckoning
My phone buzzed incessantly. Greg’s frantic voicemails piled up.
“Sarah, please! Call me back. We need to talk.”
I let him stew. By the third voicemail, his tone shifted from panic to desperation.
“Sarah, I’ll drop the bill, okay? Just take down the reviews.”
I picked up. “Greg, you billed me $1,300 for your mess. Do you think that’s fair?”
“I get it,” he stammered. “I overreacted. Please, just take them down.”
“Send me an email canceling the bill,” I said coldly. “Then we’ll talk.”
Within the hour, the email arrived: “The $1,300 charge has been canceled.” I smiled and deleted the reviews, satisfied that justice had been served.
A Lesson Learned
Two days later, Greg showed up at my door, shoulders slumped, eyes avoiding mine. “Sarah,” he said quietly, “I messed up. I shouldn’t have forced you to host my family, and billing you was wrong. I want to make it right.”
He handed me a check for $1,500—enough to cover the damages and then some.
“I’m sorry,” he added. “This won’t happen again.”
I nodded, accepting the check but leaving his apology unanswered. Respect is earned, not handed out like turkey leftovers.
As Greg walked away, I felt a sense of peace. My home was mine again, and Greg learned the hard way that when you push someone too far, you might end up with more than just gravy stains to clean up.