The Art Of Couch Crashing

How to Do It Right and Stories From The Road

I'm kinda a bum, a vagrant, someone who, in other words, sleeps on quite a few couches. If you're reading this, odds are, I have slept on your couch, or I'm coming for it soon. Acquiring a couch ain't hard, but parlaying that one night into three and being welcome back?! That, dear reader, is a skill, a talent, a craft I've honed and refined for years, depending on if you can count past 10, decades. 

On Thursday morning, after the house fire, I got in my car and started driving south. About a week earlier, I texted my buddy Joe May about recording a podcast at some point this week. The plan was rough, and my communication could have been better; I should have called him before ripping 300-plus miles with his address plugged into my GPS. 

As I pulled out of St. Michael's, MD, the GPS gave me two routes to Charlotte, NC, one 7.5 hours and one 9.5 hours. I took the 9.5 hours; hear me out, it's because the longer drive was down the Delmarva Peninsula, and my buddy Joey lives about 4 hours into the 9.5-hour drive. I hopped in the car, got Joey on the horn, and told him I was coming to town for lunch in VA. We met up by his office, each of us crushed a burger and coffee, coffee which tasted like a glass of water mixed with another glass of slightly warmer water, talked about life and business, and then parted ways as I continued on down to Charlotte. 

About an hour after I left Joey and Hampton, VA, a town where people find it more efficient to use their middle finger than a stop sign, I got a call from Joe May in Charlotte: "Hey man, so are you coming tonight to record this podcast?" 

John: "Yeah, yeah, I'm so sorry for the choppy communications. I'm still trying to clear my head from that house fire. I'll be there around 9:15 PM." 

Joe - "Okay man, where are you crashing? You've got safe harbor here, dude."

THIS, THIS IS THE CRUCIAL MOMENT, THE COUCH OFFER WAS MADE.

I took Joe up on the offer, told him I'd crash with him for the night, and then figure out the weekend, and honestly, that was my plan. I've known Joe tangentially for the last decade, seeing him for a few minutes here and there through mutual friends, but I got to know him better when I crashed on his air mattress a few weeks ago for just one night.

Hear me out; I came to Charlotte with no fucking plan; I know two, now three people in the city (thanks for taking me to the golf simulator Alex!), and thought to myself, Joe's the man, maybe I'll stay with him, but I never asked, I kind of just assumed that if I were in Charlotte, we would be running shit, boolin, bicycle cruising, and music producing for a weekend.

I rolled in after 13 hours on the road, and Joe let me know that he had to leave for Atlanta in the morning, meaning we would have to record the podcast right now, like at 10 PM. We cranked out the podcast (it's fire; you should listen if you have ears or read the raw transcript if you hate well-produced, high-fidelity spoken audio). And then, the fateful conversation came upon us around midnight; Joe looked at me and asked, "So what are your plans for the weekend," my mind, coupled with a day-long drive and half a bottle of wine we crushed during the pre-podcast chat, " Who knows, find somewhere to sleep, do some writing, and chill out in Charlotte," as the kids say I was looking to "Fuck around and find out." 

I told Joe I might snag a hotel, I would wake up and figure it out, and this was the plan; indeed, if there were a $100 hotel in the NoDa neighborhood, I probably would have snapped that up, but there wasn't, all that was left in Charlotte were shitty corporate hotel rooms in Uptown (if you read my previous piece on Uptown Charlotte, you know I'd rather take an errant foul ball to the nuts before spend a night in that soulless abyss). Joe looked at me, sensed I had no fucking clue what I was doing this weekend, handed me a spare key, and both of us started getting ready to get to sleep, Joe to his bed and me to my couch kingdom.

The following day I woke up and tried to find a hotel, but I was still shit out of luck; I texted Joe saying I wanted to be respectful of his boundaries, yet I made the ask to stay another night. Joe said yes, and I crashed in his bed this time, as he was out of town for the night. Now, here's the crucial part: I bought a four-pack of craft beers for his roommate, which I would have split with him had I been able to locate him (gotta stay on good terms with the whole crew; I heard the guy was cool too so why not have a beer together), ordered Joe a nice monogrammed tote bag, and when I say nice I'm willing to drop $50 or $75 on a gift. This is both something I want to do and something all couch crashers need to do. Rule number one (other the real rule number one, which states don't burn down the house) always arrive with a gift and leave with a gift. You see, I'd rather spend $75 on a gift for a friend and hang out for the weekend than give a hotel $200 a night. And while we are on rules, there are a few others that are vital for all couch crashers to abide by:

Rule #1: - Don't Burn down the house (one I've been struggling with lately)

Other Rule #1 - Don't show up empty-handed (this one is a classic)

Rule #2: - Buy your friend a nice gift after you leave with a thank you note (Nobody wants your six-pack of Miller Light; shell out, your friend saved you a few hundred bucks)

Rule #3: - Be a ghost (I keep all of my stuff packed in my backpack, at all times, don't let your stuff clutter the space)

Rule #4: - Add some value, put on some music, do some dishes, and don't be a noncontributing zero. 

Rule #5: Do the laundry if possible; this one is big. Usually, you get lent a towel; sometimes, if you are lucky or your friend is type A, you get sheets. WASH THEM; it makes it easier to host you; your friend is not your maid.

Rule #6: Have your own life; your friend loves you, but they have shit planned too - meet up throughout the day but explore on your own or meet some friends; then cross paths for a few activities.

Rule #7: Be out early in the morning and back late at night; you are crashing on a couch, not living in their apartment.

But for how long can I crash, John? It's all about consecutive days, you see. You rotate to another couch in the same city with another friend after three days (if you are on my NYC rotation, you know who you are, and I love you. See you four times in April), but a house guest is like a fish, after three days, they start to stink. I learned this hard when I imposed on my buddy Cam in London in 2017.

You know how friends say, "Hey, if you're ever in XYZ city, there's a couch waiting for you." Well, I take people up on that, and once, I took it pretty far. I was attempting to bike a few thousand miles solo across the UK, having never ridden a bike for more than 50 miles at a time, and promptly gave up after three 100-mile days, all of which were full of rolling hills. I took the train to London, cycling bib and all, and phoned my friend Cameron Walker, who had just started grad school in London. When I said just started, I did not realize that he had just started that day, as in he had yet to build his furniture (which I helped with). I told Cam I was pulling the couch card, and he welcomed me into his apartment.

Look, before you judge me, I did not know Cam did not have a couch, so when I pulled up on his doorstep in a cycling bib with two hours of notice, I was not aware of how physically close we would be sleeping together. I will make a long story short: I spent the next five days sleeping on the concrete floor next to Cam in the closet-sized apartment, hands crossed above on my chest, sleeping mummy style. When I floated the idea that maybe I'd move to a hostel soon, he did not put up a fight; I had become a smelly but grateful fish. 

In conclusion, I'm a great guest; you should DM or text me about your couch (pics welcome), but know there is a risk that I show up with two hours notice and stay for three days. 

Dedicated to all those who have let me crash and to all of those who hopefully will - John