When a Reservation Isn’t REALLY a reservation

Reservation: [rez-er-VEY-shun], noun - 1. the act of keeping back, withholding, or setting apart. 2. assurance given of an arrangement to secure accommodations at a restaurant or hotel, on a boat or plane, etc.

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Do you know what it means to make a reservation? Yeah well, I thought I did too until two separate episodes informed me otherwise.


I was pregnant with Miss Smarty Pants, and Signore Sexy Pants took me out to dinner because, shit, that’s what you do with a pregnant woman…you feed the hungry biatch! He had made a reservation because this particular restaurant, a Japanese restaurant, was always crowded. When we arrived, Signore gave the lady our name, and she told us to have a seat.


I’m not naïve. I expect that there will be a short wait, maybe 15 minutes, even with a reservation. But they kept us waiting for AN HOUR AND A HALF! You do NOT come between a pregnant woman and that scrumptious fried rice, people!


Oh, how many times did Signore approach the little lady at the front, only to be told, “Five more minute, round eye man.” I’m not sure how I resisted the urge to jab out her eyes with a set of chopsticks. It was like that episode of Seinfeld where they were waiting for-freakin-ever for a table. I couldn’t even have a beer or a glass of wine or a fifth of vodka because I was 8 months preggo!


Signore did go to the bar to get us a drink, so I told him to bring me a Dr. Pepper. “How about if I get you a water?” he said. “Wouldn’t that be better…for…uhhh, never mind! Dr. Pepper it is!” He quickly dropped the whole you-need-to-drink-water-and-cut-back-on-caffeine bullshit when I eyeballed him with the mommy glare I had been practicing.

Then, of course, I had to pee 12 times during the hour and a half we sat there. Can someone please explain to me how an 8-ounce glass of Dr. Pepper can produce roughly 7 gallons of pee? Logic has no home in the body of a pregnant woman.


Everytime I came back from the bathroom, I would walk by the bar area and sneak a lime or a cherry out of those little containers, thinking that if they arrested my hungry, stealing ass, then the police would almost for sure bring me some food in jail, right? If not, I would use my one phone call to call Pizza Hut delivery.

Just about the time I was creeping to the dining area to beg people for their leftovers (WHAT? I was desperate - eating for two, and all that shit!), we got called to a table and FINALLY got some damn food. Thank God I managed to get out of there without any hunger-induced assault charges being filed.

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The other instance in which I had a totally effing useless reservation involved those bastards at U-Haul. About three weeks before Signore Sexy Pants and I were moving from Houston (aka Grand Theft Auto City), I called the U-Haul office and reserved a U-Haul for the Friday I needed it. They asked what time I wanted it, and I told them early morning. They were supposed to call me the Thursday night before or that Friday morning to let me know at which location I could pick up my massive moving machine.

So the morning of the move, Signore went to work, because God forbid he should take one freakin’ day off. He had only worked for that company for 8 years without a day off. I guess the policy was 10 years before you get a sick day or personal day.


Alrighty, I’m done ranting about Signore’s stinking job for now.

But really, don’t you all find that just a little bit ridiculous? Eight damn years? Shit!

Ok, ok, sorry…back to the story. So Signore is at work, and I get all of the boxes piled up beside the front door. I vacuum, mop, and fill in the nail holes in the wall with deodorant. Yes, solid deodorant works great to cover up holes. And your walls smell powdery fresh too!


By this time, it was 10:00 a.m., and the U-Haul office hadn’t called me yet. So, I gave them a call to check on the status.


“Hmmm,” she said, “I guess someone will call you when we have one ready.” Well, that was vague and unhelpful.


FIVE HOURS LATER…my friend that was supposed to give me a ride to the U-Haul office was about to leave town. So I called them back to make sure they hadn’t forgotten me.

The lady who answered told me that I had already called once, and she didn’t have time to talk to me. THAT SNIPPY BITCH!


Oh, readers! You would have been so proud of me! I didn’t even raise my voice, but very patiently explained that I had reserved a U-Haul for that morning, and it was already 3:00 in the afternoon. Ya know what she said?


“We don’t DO reservations.” Then the bitch hung up on me!!! Yes, she did!


Ooooh, I was so pissed! I went to pick up Signore Sexy Pants (he had carpooled that day - just call us tree huggers), and he decided we should stop by one of the U-Haul locations on the way home. They told us that they didn’t have any U-Hauls available, and that we should have made a reservation.


We. Should. Have. Made. A. Reservation. Holy shit! What a great idea!


Are you seeing why we were ready to move from Houston, land of idiots?


Most of the U-Haul offices closed at 7:00 p.m., so Signore decided to call them at 6:30 because we were getting a little freaked out by this time. They told him to stop bothering them because we had been calling all day.


WTF? This was the third time in almost 9 hours, and the only reason we were calling was because WE STILL HAD NO DAMN U-HAUL!  Please refer again to the definition of “reservation” at the top of this post. Does any of this resemble that definition? I didn’t think so!


The next morning, we got up bright an early and called AGAIN. They told us they didn’t have any available today because they were all reserved. Yeah, well, we reserved one for ohhhh, about 24 hours ago, so perhaps we could be put at the top of the list. The lady said that we should have picked one up the day before since that’s when we had a reservation.


AGGGGHHHHH! {Banging head against deodorant-coated wall.}


After explaining the situation, the lady got her supervisor. Mr. Supervisor-Man informed us that there wasn’t much he could do because all the ones he had were already reserved for someone else, and it wouldn’t be fair to take one away from someone who was depending on it.

Not fair?

If I could have reached through that phone and yanked that smarmy son of a bitch through it, I totally would have. But he was going to “see what he could do. And we‘ll call you, so don‘t call us.”


We waited until noon, at which point we went to the Ryder dealer. They had one truck left, and it was at least 8 times too big for what we needed to move. We rented the damn thing anyway, even though it cost us about twice as much as we were expecting to pay (Hello, Mr. credit card! Nice to see you again!).


The truck smelled like pork ‘n’ beans and armpits, but we were totally thrilled with it! As soon as we walked in the door from picking up the armpit/bean truck, the phone was ringing. Guess who it was?


Go ahead…guess!

If you said Hugh Hefner offering me a job, well…you’re really sweet (or a total smartass), but also wrong.


If you said the U-Haul people, then you are an effing genius. They had a vehicle for us.


Well, too late suckas!!! We have dumped your rude, non-reservation-honoring asses for a wonderfully stinky Ryder truck.


Booo-yah!