All parka-ed and booted up and no where to freeze.
So… my trip to Iceland is cancelled. I’d be gutted, if this situation wasn’t so nut-balls-bonkers…
The woman heading up the press tour disappeared for 10 whole days a couple weeks before we were scheduled to leave — with no tickets booked for anyone. Ten days later, she popped by to drop a super-disjointed email, apologizing for being out of reach for “3 days” and cc’ing the airline we were supposedly partnering with. That airline’s response: “[Name], as me and my team have told you repeatedly neither me nor [airline] are your partner and we are certainly not part of this production.”
Her response: To change the subject of the group email to “HATE STUPID BUSINESS MEN,” start slinging shit at the airline, and telling us to “Forget them, all dear guests. NIGHTMARE from A to Z !!!”
Yeah… at that point (four days before we were supposed to fly out!) I got all “Bye, Felicia!” I don’t care if you miraculously pull plane tickets out of your ass, I’m not putting myself in your completely irresponsible hands for international travel. I imagine myself showing up to Iceland without a place to stay — drifting on an iceberg like that sad polar bear, with only my newly purchased down jacket and stylish waterproof boots to keep me warm. (Oh yes, I purchased stuff. Idiot me.)
