Excuse me, dahrlings, but...

Room Service Please

Is there anything better, Dahrlings, than fluffy towels, a deep marble tub and a buffy room service boy with a thick cut of meat on his cart in one hand and your door knob in the other?

Well, let me tell you, pumpkins, that’s not what the poor saps being chucked into the Tarmac Inn are tucking into.

Scratchy sheets, a bar of soap and a bag of chips. BBQ if you’re lucky.

And the aroma of Eau de Chlorine wafting down the hallway.

I’ll be honest with you, Pumpkins, (unusual, I know), my first thought was ‘well, at least somebody’s getting some’.

Those hotels are getting so much business the booking number broke.

Is it wrong of me, dahrlings, to think I’d have liked a piece of that pie rather than feel for my fellow man? Forced into rooms with synthetic duvets and having to pay for it. While the hotel managers fantasize about buffing their sales growth trophies.

Who cut those deals, dahrling? Did you get an RFP from the feds? I sure didn’t.

But I don’t doubt Amex got the gig through all the proper channels. (I won’t say I’ve climbed up some of those channels in my day. But there have been times a flashlight would’ve been handy.)

Now before anyone gets their knickers in a twist, I don’t doubt it’s all been handled above the waistline. I just know some are expanding while the rest of us starve. But it still warms my heart to think credit cards are kachinging somewhere in the travel sphere.

I know. I’m a terrible person, dahrlings. The important thing is that unsuspecting Canadians are being saved from covid by being packed into airport hotels.

And in lieu of a GG, allow me to say ‘God save the Queen’.

Ivanna Gabbalot


Part legend, part myth, all woman: Ivanna Gabbalot is OJ’s gossip columnist and considers herself the industry’s conscience. Equally annoying to Open Jaw management and inflated egos in C-suites everywhere, Ivanna works infrequently, preferring to snipe from the sidelines.

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