I'm a good son. I try to be, at least. It almost being Mother's Day and all, I was putting in some long-distance work this week to plan some fun for my mama back home in the Bay Area.

Mom wanted to go to one of those Mother's Day brunches at a hotel, so I thought of a hotel in our area that's part of a large chain. I remember going there for Mother's Day brunch once when I was like 12. Moms like to remember their kids when they were actually kids, so I figured this was perfect.

I called the hotel in question the other night. I didn't figure this would be a big deal. In fact, I threw some dinner in the oven and fired up Mario Kart in the Wii, thinking no way making a reservation would interfere.

I call. Get transferred. Wait. It rings. I'm back at the front desk. Get transferred again. Wait. It rings. Front desk again. I explain the circle I'm going in. On hold. Click. Dial tone. I'm gone. So I call back. Explain situation. On hold. For a while. So I start to play Mario Kart. Play. Win a race. Still on hold. It's been more than five minutes. I hang up. I call back. Explain situation. On hold. Transferred. Rings. Back at front desk.

At this point -- because I'm annoyed and because I can smell that dinner's done -- I tell the desk clerk that I'm done with transferring and holding. I ask that she take down my info and have someone call me. She does. But no one ever does.

At first, I was amazed at the level of incompetence from a major hotel chain. Then I got to thinking about it. The hotel? The name? No, actually, I'm not amazed at the complete incompetence. It totally makes sense, actually. I blame her.