You may not have been swallowed up by the Rapture this weekend, Pumpkins, but the world as we know it did come to an end. A foul fungus is choking the life out of travel. It feeds off the innocent and sucks the oxygen right of our business. It’s called … Public Relations. Aaaggghh…!
You may not care that many companies now rely on stacks of words as their path to profits. My delete file is a slag heap of thesaurus exhumed superlatives loosely strung together and flogged as ‘latest news’ -- which is intended to result in “free” exposure. Normally I would say you really shouldn’t care that I am expected to work for free so someone else can get well paid. (They actually seem rather taken aback that I balk at the notion.)
Do I look like a travel agent?
However, this day is different. The dreaded PR machine’s tentacles are spreading into your territory, dahrlings. A self-proclaimed smarty pants by the name of Angela Self herself writes in the The Globe and Mail that any Tom, Dick or Jane can get great travel deals by contacting the PR reps for various destinations and hotels. “Just tell them you’ll write about it on your Facebook wall.” Your wall for cheap travel? Well, I’m floored.
