STATE OF OKLAHOMA, EX. REL. OKLAHOMA TAX COMMISSION v. GSAABI LLC AKA BAYMONT INN & SUITES

Let’s get one thing straight: nobody throws a dinner party and says, “You know what would make this more exciting? The Oklahoma Tax Commission showing up with a $51,720 tax warrant.” And yet, here we are. In what can only be described as the most dramatic accounting spreadsheet to ever file a lawsuit, the State of Oklahoma — via its tax enforcers — has dragged a Baymont Inn & Suites franchise into court not for murder, not for fraud, not even for overcharging on continental breakfast, but for failing to pay sales tax on room bookings from one single month in 2017. That’s right. This entire legal showdown hinges on December of 2017 — a time when people were still trying to figure out if fidget spinners were an investment or a fad, and somehow, in the chaos, someone forgot to pay the state its cut of hotel room sales. Now, over five years later, the bill has ballooned into a five-figure monster with interest, penalties, and fees piling on like unread emails in a neglected inbox.

So who are the players in this fiscal face-off? On one side, you’ve got the Oklahoma Tax Commission — basically the state’s financial bouncer, the one who shows up at your door when you’ve skipped out on the cover charge. They don’t mess around. They’ve got attorneys, they’ve got warrants, and they’ve got a whole system for turning unpaid taxes into court-enforceable debt. Representing them is the law firm Linebarger Goggan Blair & Sampson — a name so aggressively corporate it sounds like a villainous law firm from a Scooby-Doo episode. These folks specialize in collections, which means they’ve probably sent more “you owe money” letters than most people have sent birthday cards.

On the other side? GSAABI LLC, doing business as Baymont Inn & Suites — a hotel chain operating in Garfield County, Oklahoma. Not some back-alley motel with flickering neon and a “Vacancy” sign that’s been blinking since the Bush administration. No, this is a branded franchise, part of the Wyndham portfolio, which means they’ve got corporate oversight, accounting departments, and presumably someone whose job it is to make sure taxes get paid. And yet, somehow, for the month of December 2017, that system failed. Or maybe it just got lazy. Or maybe someone hit “save draft” on the tax form and then went on vacation. We may never know.

Here’s how this whole mess went down — or rather, how it didn’t. In December 2017, guests checked into the Baymont Inn & Suites, handed over their credit cards, and enjoyed their stay — complete with free breakfast, questionable Wi-Fi, and that distinct hotel smell that’s equal parts air freshener and existential dread. During that month, the hotel collected sales tax on those room charges, as required by Oklahoma law. But here’s the kicker: collecting the tax is only step one. Step two? Sending it to the state. And somewhere between the front desk and the state treasury, that money vanished. Not stolen. Not embezzled. Just… not paid. The Oklahoma Tax Commission says the hotel failed to remit $33,110.11 in sales tax for that single month.

Now, normally, the state sends a polite reminder: “Hey, you forgot to pay.” Then a less polite one. Then maybe a certified letter with bold font. But by February 16, 2021 — over three years later — the Commission had had enough. They issued a tax warrant, which is basically the government’s version of slapping a lien on your stuff. It’s not a lawsuit yet — it’s a declaration: “You owe us, and we’re going to treat this like a court judgment until you pay up.” That warrant included not just the original tax, but interest ($15,062.91), penalties ($3,311.01), a $200 “tax warrant penalty” (because of course there’s a fee for being late and getting a warrant), and a $36 filing fee — because even bureaucracy has its price. Total? $51,720.03. And by the time this petition was filed in March 2023, the total unpaid debt had somehow grown to $94,503.89. That’s what happens when you ignore the government’s polite(ish) requests — the interest compounds, the penalties stack, and before you know it, a $33,000 oversight becomes a six-figure headache.

So why are we in court? Because the Tax Commission isn’t just sending emails anymore. They’re going full legal throttle. They’ve filed what’s called an “Application for State Tax Enforcement,” which is a fancy way of saying, “We have a warrant, but they still haven’t paid, so now we’re asking the court to step in and make them cough up the cash.” Under Oklahoma law, once a tax warrant is filed, it’s treated like a court judgment. That means the state can garnish bank accounts, seize assets, or force the hotel to show up and explain what they’ve got and where it is. This isn’t about proving guilt — the tax was assessed, the warrant was issued, and the hotel didn’t appeal it in time. Now, it’s collection mode. The Commission isn’t asking for a trial. They’re asking for a hearing on assets — basically, “What do you own, and how can we get our money?”

And what do they want? $51,720.03 — plus all the interest and penalties that have piled on since. Is that a lot? Well, for a single month of unpaid taxes, it’s not catastrophic for a hotel chain, but it’s not nothing. For context, that’s enough to buy a luxury SUV, fund a full year of college, or, you know, keep your business in compliance with state law. But here’s the real kicker: the original tax bill was just over $33,000. The rest? That’s the cost of ignoring the problem. Interest, penalties, legal fees — the financial version of compound interest gone rogue. It’s like leaving a library book overdue for five years and then getting hit with a fine that’s ten times the book’s value. The state isn’t just mad — they’re expensive.

Now, here’s our take: what’s the most absurd part of this? Is it that a hotel chain forgot to pay taxes for an entire month? Nah. Big businesses mess up accounting all the time. Is it that the state waited over three years to issue the warrant? Also no — tax audits take time, and the Commission likely went through appeals or notices first. No, the real absurdity is the precision of the punishment. $51,720.03. Not $52,000. Not “about fifty-one grand.” No — down to the penny. And that $36 filing fee? That’s the cherry on top of the bureaucratic sundae. It’s like the government is saying, “We’re taking your money, we’re charging you for taking your money, and by the way, there’s a small admin fee for the paperwork involved in taking your money and charging you for it.”

We’re also low-key rooting for the hotel here — not because they don’t owe the money, but because this whole thing feels like a paperwork horror story. Imagine being a franchise owner, getting hit with a five-year-old tax bill that’s now worth nearly double because nobody forwarded an email from the corporate office. It’s the kind of thing that keeps small business owners up at night — not because they’re trying to dodge taxes, but because one missed checkbox in a financial report can snowball into a legal avalanche.

At the end of the day, this isn’t Breaking Bad. There’s no meth lab in the hotel basement, no offshore accounts, no dramatic courtroom confessions. It’s just taxes — the most unglamorous, inevitable, and quietly terrifying part of capitalism. And yet, here we are, narrating a legal battle over a 2017 sales tax filing like it’s a season-long arc on Law & Order: Fiscal Crimes Unit. Because in the world of civil court, sometimes the most explosive drama isn’t about betrayal or revenge — it’s about a $36 filing fee and a really, really overdue tax bill.

We’re entertainers, not lawyers. But if we were, we’d bill by the hour — and we’d definitely remind our clients to pay their sales tax on time.