Between summer fun and passive-aggressive servitude stands Tina’s lake house, an Airbnb in spirit but run by the management style of a 19th-century manor. Guests arrived with coolers full of food, wallets already lightened for utilities and groceries, and even their own bedding in tow, ready for some lakeside leisure. Instead, they landed a starring role in Tina’s unpaid domestic workforce: prepping dinners, tackling bathrooms, chauffeuring kids, and providing endless support while Tina herself reclined and lectured on the finer points of gratitude.

Every group meal became a kitchen relay, each cleaning session a full-team sport, all under the unblinking eye of a host marveling at how much she was doing for everyone while doing nothing herself. The story of how everyone was supposedly freeloading never wavered, despite a confirmed digital paper trail of Venmo transactions. In the end, good vibes evaporated faster than a last-day brunch mimosa, replaced by the slow burn of exploited patience.

Three days in, the guests repacked their cars and vanished a day ahead of schedule, dignified in their silent protest. Tina’s wrath arrived on schedule, rippling over text as she mourned her missing audience and the abrupt end of her one-woman show/camp-for-grown-ups. No responses sent, energy preserved, self-worth intact.