It’s Friday, I’m just back from the weekly “Silver Beavers” food and gabfest, so I should be feeling just fine. In fact, I am feeling just fine, but this piddly little subject has been bugging me since this afternoon, so what the hell, I’m going to blog it. It’s my blog and I’ll rant if I want to.
Does any other single word evoke so much just in the reading or writing of it? Probably not. Just when you think you have things fairly settled (knowing of course that nothing is every REALLY settled where family is concerned), they pull you back in and unsettle you quite gleefully.
The trip East for my daughter and her crew seems to have gone well. They stayed with my sister, who had the option of going across the street and staying with her neighbor who happens to be a friend from high school, so if things got too rowdy, she had an escape. Always a good move where family is concerned.
I emailed and talked with my daughter just a couple of times, but she sent me some photos on her phone and they seemed to have had a good time. They left today, planning to stay somewhere west of St. Louis on the way back because of plain exhaustion in making the trip straight through on the way out. My sister generously agreed to pay for a hotel room for them and (I thought) made the arrangements. Very nice of her, too, I might add.
Today, J called me from the road and said her phone wasn’t making a connection to my sister and could I email her and make sure that all the hotel stuff was taken care of. Okay, I would be happy to do that. So, I did. Then, I guess “bossy big sister” or “bossy mom” kicked into gear. I sent the email to my sister, then looked online for the hotel and didn’t find one by the name J had given me, so I figured she had given me the wrong name and left it at that. An hour or so later, J calls to see if I’ve heard from my sister. Nothing. Then she says it’s not the first hotel she told me and gives me another chain, but in the same place. She asks if I will call the hotel and make sure things are in place. No problem. With 4 kinds and a cranky husband in the car, I’d have asked the same thing.
So, I call the hotel and explain the situation. No reservation, either under my sister’s name or my daughter’s. Oh, wait. Here it comes now over the fax. Oh, but sorry we’re sold out. Why my sister didn’t go ahead and get the reservation first thing this morning–or yesterday, I have no idea, but great. I thank the woman and get back online. Find another chain. Make a call.
Yes, we have rooms. Yes, I can even get you 2 side by side. Yes, we have breakfast. Yes, you can pay over the phone, I just need you to fax me this, this, and this. Which I proceed to do. I sprang for 2 rooms because I figured they might want to stretch out a little and what the hell, right? Oh, and the lady even got me a decent rate, bless her heart.
Now, when I use my fax machine, I have to unplug the phone/DSL and plug in the fax. After a bit of drama with the fax/copier (empty color cartridge, paper jam in the fax feeder), I get all the information over to the hotel. Plug the phone back in, wait for DSL to reconnect.
I see there’s a voice mail on the phone and retrieve it. It’s my sister saying in a rather hushed voice, uh, the hotel is full and there aren’t any rooms. I don’t know what else to do….blah, blah, blah.
You know what I HATE? I HATE it when people say “I don’t know what else to do” when it’s fucking obvious what to do.
Get on-damn-line, use Google and find another freakin’ hotel. Uh, DUH? See above. However, I said none of that because if I were to SAY something like that, I would be oh, too “intimidating” for some people. It just fries my ass the way some people have the gumption of mush.
You know the Pine-Sol lady?
Well, if you didn’t know already, she’s a pretty damn funny stand-up comedienne. She did a routine once about how black woman are so strong because back in slave times, someone would come into the plantation and say to the “mistress”, “There’s a fire in the fields!” and the mistress would put her hand to her forehead and just SWOON away because “she didn’t know what to do”. Then they would run to the kitchen where “mammy” was and yell, “There’s a fire in the field!” and mammy would holler to the girls to get the buckets and find blankets, and pack up the food, and pipe the water into tanks and harness the wagon horses, and have everyone organized to got put out the damn fire before little “missy” on the floor could breathe in her corset.
So in about 20 minutes, I had a room organized and breakfast for tomorrow and a called my daughter and told her where to go and who to talk to and not to worry. And I sent a real nice, bland e-mail to my sister to let her know that I had found another hotel and taken care of it and not to worry, leaving out all the above “intimidating” parts.
Doesn’t matter, though–she’ll still be “intimidated” and I’ll still be the bossy sister.
But at least my travelin’ kids had a nice room tonight. And that’s what matters.