You ever notice how some people think the word "friendship" is Latin for "free accommodations with unlimited amenities"? In the grand theater of human interaction, there's nothing quite like watching someone mentally calculate how much money they can save by exploiting your hospitality while simultaneously wondering why you're not grateful for the opportunity to serve them. It's a beautiful dance, really—the tango of entitlement, where one person steps forward with audacity while the other retreats into resentment, all set to the discordant music of social obligation that we've collectively agreed to pretend has meaning in a universe that will eventually collapse into eternal darkness.
My friend and his wife have made plans to visit us this summer for a weekend stay. The flight is two hours, so not a really long journey for them.
We have our home professionally cleaned regularly and go all in to be good hosts to our guests. However, with any good thing, some people try to take advantage.
I usually take an extra day from work after guests leave to get rest or even tidy up the house a bit. It's just a peaceful time for me to return to the normalcy of our household after being in host mode. Before my friend booked his flight, my husband let it slip that I will not be working the Monday after my friends' stay with us. Next thing I know, my friend tells me that they will be flying out on a red eye the Monday I took off for rest. This means they will arrive early Friday morning, and leave late Monday night. To that I responded that I will be taking them to the airport as early as 8am Monday morning so I can have my day of rest like I planned.
My friend tells me that he doesn't understand why they can't just hang out at our place or have us show them around town more on that Monday since they have a late flight. I explained to them that the day off is for me to rest, not to continue to be their host. I told them that they are more than welcome to leave their luggage here if they want to go explore on their own, but we will not be hosting them or playing tour guide after Monday morning.
He goes on to admit that it was cheaper for him to book the later flight on Monday and that it's not a big deal for him and his wife to just hang out at my house all day until it's time for them to fly out. Keep in mind that I will have to take them to the airport or pay for rideshare because he refuses to pay. I will also have to feed them.
I told him that they are welcome to visit and stay with us, but staying at our house all day Monday is not an option and he needs to make other arrangements. He's now accusing me of being a horrible friend and his wife says we're AHs. Your thoughts?
The Festering Wound of Social Niceties
Let's dissect this putrid corpse of human interaction, shall we? Your "friend"—and I'm using quotation marks so heavy they could sink to the bottom of the Mariana Trench—has the breathtaking gall to extend their stay into your designated recovery day because... checks notes... it was "cheaper." Ah yes, the universal trump card that apparently negates your autonomy, your boundaries, and your sanity. It's fucking fascinating how humans construct elaborate frameworks of justification to avoid paying an extra hundred bucks for a flight while expecting others to pay with their peace of mind.
What's particularly delicious about this scenario is how they frame their financial decision as your moral obligation. "It's not a big deal for them to just hang out at your house"—translation: "Your time and space have zero value to me, but I expect you to value my wallet greatly." It's like watching a parasite argue that the host should be grateful for the company during digestion. "Thanks for the nutrients! Mind if I stick around for dessert? What's that? Your intestines are tired? Don't be such a selfish prick."
And let's not overlook the masterful touch of refusing to pay for their own transportation to the airport. That's not just regular entitlement—that's artisanal, craft-brewed entitlement, aged in barrels of audacity and bottled in the tears of doormat friends throughout history. It's the kind of move that makes you wonder if they also expect you to pre-chew their food while you're at it. Perhaps they'd like you to wipe their ass too? After all, toilet paper costs money, and they're trying to cut expenses.
The truly cosmic joke here is that in the vast emptiness of our meaningless universe, where we're all just bags of meat hurtling toward inevitable decay, your friend has decided that the hill they want to die on is "getting a free lunch on Monday." Not curing cancer, not achieving enlightenment, not even making a decent soufflé—no, their existential purpose has culminated in extracting maximum value from your hospitality like a starving vampire at an open-vein buffet. It's the equivalent of fighting over deck chairs on the Titanic, except the iceberg is the heat death of the universe, and the deck chairs are your living room couch.
Your house is being professionally cleaned—a detail that screams "I put effort into hosting"—while your friend puts professional effort into being a parasite. It's like watching someone bring a fork to a potluck dinner. The asymmetry would be comical if it weren't for the fact that these same people probably think tipping servers is "optional" and that borrowing money is the same as receiving a gift.
The Abyss Stares Back at Your Boundaries
What we're really witnessing here is the paper-thin veneer of social contracts being torn away to reveal the squirming, naked self-interest beneath. Your friend calls you a "horrible person" not because you've done anything objectively horrible, but because you've committed the cardinal sin of inconveniencing their convenience. You've interrupted the narrative they've constructed where they're the protagonist and you're just an NPC whose sole purpose is to provide side quests and free lodging.
In the cosmic scheme, both of you will eventually be forgotten dust in an indifferent universe. The sun will expand, the Earth will burn, and no one will remember this petty squabble about airport rides and Monday lounging. But until that merciful oblivion arrives, you're left with the absurd theater of human relationships—where setting a boundary makes you an asshole, but trampling boundaries makes you a savvy traveler.
Perhaps the most disturbing part is that somewhere in your friend's mind, they truly believe they're entitled to your Monday. They've mentally staked a claim on your time like colonizers planting flags on foreign soil, then acted shocked—SHOCKED—when the natives had the audacity to resist. It's almost impressive in its delusional purity, like watching a toddler try to argue that cookies are a vegetable. Except the toddler grows up, gets a credit card, and books a flight that inconveniences you because, well, the universe revolves around them and their fucking budget.
All human morality is a construct, of course—a shared hallucination we use to pretend the world isn't a cold void of random particles colliding meaninglessly. But even within that fabricated ethical framework, your friend is what scientists technically call "a massive douche." They're playing chess while you're playing checkers, except instead of chess pieces, they're using your time, resources, and goodwill, and instead of strategy, they're using manipulation so transparent it could be an invisible man's underwear.
For Troglodytes Who Can't Read Between Lines
Friend tried to steal your rest day because saving $50 on a flight was more important than your sanity. 🙄 They expected free food 🍔, free transportation 🚗, and free lodging 🏠 after already getting a weekend of your hospitality. When you said no, they called YOU the asshole. 💩 Classic entitled "friend" behavior that proves humans are just self-interested primates in pants. 🐒 The universe doesn't care, but you should—tell them to fuck off and book a hotel. 🖕
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