Look, I need to tell you something before you load up that storage unit. It’s about the stuff that seems totally innocent but will absolutely wreck your experience. I’m not reading from a rulebook here. I’m talking from the smell of regret—specifically, the sour, sweet, rotten smell that hit me when I opened my own unit six months into storing my mom’s things after she passed away.
I’d tucked a single, sealed cardboard box of her Christmas dishes in there. Plates with little reindeer on them. What I forgot, what I didn’t even consider, was that in that same box, wrapped in newspaper, was her ancient fruitcake. The kind that’s basically a brick of candied fruit and brandy. A family joke.
It stopped being a joke. That thing fermented, or melted, or underwent some horrible alchemy in the summer heat. It leaked through the cardboard, through the newspaper, and coated every single plate in a sticky, fuzzy, purple-black syrup. The loss wasn’t about the plates. It was that I couldn’t save this one dumb, sentimental thing she loved. I had to throw it all out.
So when we say don’t store food, plants, or pet supplies, I’m not being a corporate robot. I’m trying to save you from that feeling. Let me break it down for you, not as a policy, but as a person who’s messed up.
Food: You Are Building a Bug Motel
That bag of rice from Costco? The extra cans of soup from the pantry clean-out? The fancy olives you got as a gift? No.
Just no.
Your storage unit is a quiet, dark paradise. To a mouse, it’s a gated community with no cats. To a cockroach, it’s a desert oasis. You are not storing food. You are laying out a welcome mat with a neon “FREE BUFFET” sign.
They will find it. I don’t care how well you taped the box. Their teeth are tiny saws. They will gnaw through plastic, through cardboard, through your kid’s first-grade memory box to get to a single granola bar crumb.
And then they move in. They have babies. They turn your unit into a bustling rodent metropolis. The damage is never just to the food. It’s to everything you love that’s sitting in there, now covered in droppings and chewed into confetti.
Here’s the mental checklist: Is it edible by a human? Does it have a scent, even a faint one? Could it ever rot or leak? If you answered yes, it stays at your house. Period. This is the one rule that will save you more heartache than any other.
Plants: It’s a Coffin, Not a Greenhouse
I love my plants. I talk to my monstera. I get it. You’re between places, or you’re downsizing, and you can’t bear to give up your peace lily. The thought is, “It’ll be fine in the corner for a little while.”
It won’t be fine.
It will be dead. And a dead plant in a sealed, dark space is a biological hazard. It’s not just “oh, it wilted.” It decays. It grows mold—that white, fuzzy kind that gets on everything. The soil goes sour. The pot stains the floor.
You’re not putting a plant in storage. You’re giving it a slow, miserable death sentence and turning its corpse into a problem for your sofa. Find it a foster home. A friend, a neighbor, your cousin with the sunroom. It’s the only kind thing to do.
Pet Supplies: The Sneaky Stuff That Betrays You
This one feels like it shouldn’t count. It’s not people food! It’s just Fido’s kibble!
Listen. To a mouse, that 40-pound bag of premium salmon-and-sweet-potato blend isn’t dog food. It’s the jackpot. Bird seed? You might as well be storing a flashing “ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT” sign. The bags are thin. The smell is potent.
And it’s not just food.
- That bag of unused clay cat litter? It’ll suck the moisture right out of the air and turn into a concrete block in the bag.
- The dog bed that smells like your buddy? That organic smell is a curiosity for pests.
- Used anything? Don’t make me say it. Just don’t.
If it’s for your pet’s mouth, belly, or bathroom, it has no business in your storage space.
So What’s the Point of All This?
The point is that when you rent a space from us at Bristol VA Self Storage, we’re not just renting you four walls and a door. We’re trusting you to be part of the community. The guy next to you is storing his daughter’s wedding dress. The woman across the way has her father’s vinyl collection.
One bag of dog food in your unit can ruin the wedding dress in theirs. That’s the real reason for the rules. It’s about respect. It’s about knowing that your choices protect your neighbor’s treasures, and theirs protect yours.
We want your stuff to be exactly as you left it. Not a museum piece, but your life, on hold, safely. The Christmas ornaments, the ski gear, the boxes of books you’ll finally read someday. That’s what this is for.
The food, the plants, the pet stuff? That’s life. That belongs at home, with you. Keep it there. Your future self, opening a clean, quiet, smell-free unit will lean against the doorframe and sigh with relief. I promise.
And if you’re ever standing in your kitchen, holding something and thinking, “Hmm, maybe?”… just shoot me a message. I’ll give you the real, human answer. Probably by telling you another story about my own stupid mistakes. I’ve got a few.
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