Who are all these people standing on your doorstep, and what do they want, anyway? Oh, wait, you promised to give them dinner. Good thing you remembered to vacuum the living room rug, dust the dining room chandelier, and wipe down the kitchen counter. Whose idea was this again, to share your house with random strangers who followed up on your Craiglist post? So you open a modestly priced bottle of Hogue Sauvignon Blanc and pour a taste for your guests. "Not so fast," says one, a 40-ish woman with close-cropped hair. She pulls a badge out of her purse. "Agent Smithers, Liquor Board Enforcement," she says, and writes out a $250 ticket for serving alcohol without a license. "Hold on there, buddy," says another, a cheerful lad in jeans and a blazer, "County Board of Health, this kitchen hasn't been inspected." A uniformed policeman walks in. "The neighbors have complained about suspicious cars out front. Do you have a license?" Right behind him is your landlady, lease in hand. "No parties," she reminds you. And so on. And on. And on.
Now, we've written admiringly about folks who do this sort of thing in Paris, where no one much seems to care. But here in the litigious USA, you're talking liability, health codes, liquor laws, land use regs, consumer protection statutes. Don't believe me? Read this Seattle Times article. You'll never throw a dinner party again without signed waivers and notarized liability releases from all your guests. Nice knowing you guys, ciao, and watch out for the dog poop in the front yard.
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