Hell hath no fury like a starving woman and no restaurant reservation.
The last couple of weeks have seen my frustration reach a boiling point. For me and my clan, May is an endless cornucopia of friend and family birthdays, so celebratory restaurant reservations were the order of most of the month. So color me gobsmacked when my reservation attempts proved futile, and downright deflating.
While I love my fair city, and all the culinary delights it has offered my palette over the years, something immediate must be done to rectify the lack of casual restaurants willing to take reservations. And while I am airing gastronomic grievances, why are there no fine dining restaurants open for lunch on Saturdays? Oh how I would love to dig into Alloy’s blue cheese soufflee before 5:00pm, but alas...
Living in an age where the concept of free time has somewhat ceased to exist, I know of no one who has endless supplies of it to waste waiting for a table to grab dinner, and yet, here we are, waiting an hour or more for the privilege to eat. (All the while glaring at the couple who has already paid the bill and are chit-chatting away my pre-bought movie tickets.) Some might say, hey, slow down, and take a moment to smell the scallops, but they are not the ones paying premium dollars for a babysitter to hurry up and 
wait.
For this painstaking process to end, I have a suggestion. My dear restaurants, if you are worried about no-shows and selling out the house, I plead with you, take a credit card, a phone number, some blood of my first born, and any subsequent children that I may bear. Whatever you need to make you feel secure in our intent to show and chow down. Charge a minute cancellation fee if you must, but please, spare us the maddening minutia that has become waiting for a table in this city...You just might—gasp—make us stay home...