What on earth is going on with the way some heavily starred
resorts are treating our unsuspecting sun seeking flabby white clients,
Pumpkins?
I am still recovering from a slap across the belly with a
dead fish recently encountered at a 5* AI when I came across another fab
example of a resort putting their best hospitality foot forward. Beaches Turks
& Caicos thought it a perfectly reasonable idea
to lock guests out of all the pools and shoo them off the beach – for 4
days – while a swimsuit photo shoot took place. (Why nobody asked me to pose,
I’ll never know.)
At least it made me feel like I was not the only one whose
purchase was relegated to 1* relevance.
Anyhoo, more about Me... you might wonder why I would even
consider a mainstream market vacay given my proclivity for high end
indulgences, but you see – I was only trying to help. I over-enthusiastically
and perhaps a titch over-inebriatedly attempted to trick another WinterBoob’er
into buying a sun package donated to last year’s (and the last ever apparently)
Breast Cancer fundraiser by ramping up the bidding war... only to be left
holding the voucher. Aaarrrrgghhhh – a week in paradise among the massive masses
would have to be endured. But, really how bad could that be... let me count the
ways.
The room... communist era decor
circa 1962 and adjacent to the kiddy pool. And if shabby wasn’t cruel
enough... everything mechanical was out to get me... from the toilet to the TV
automatically timed to wake me up at 3 a.m. I solved that one by drinking until
3:05 and then going to bed... where there’s a will, there’s a way!
But, when I asked the front desk “don’t you know who I am??”
and suggested they might at least consider moving me to a room for adults – or
even one with functioning parts - I was met with a shrug and advised I was
getting what I paid for, gracias very much. [All this, while dinkette
Numero Uno or Dos, who knows, was sipping champers down the beach at her all
indulgent all inclusive. I really don’t like those 2 women.)
My point, dahrling dahrlings, is that we promise an orgasmic beach experience in full colour, full bleed, full gloss,
brochures. And we then deliver bupkis on a bun? There's something wrong with this picture.
If nothing else, it was certainly a lesson in humility, Pumpkins,
and, goodness knows, I had to get that off my chest. It’s left me feeling
rather hollow though... must call my plastic surgeon.
