I was delighted to receive a call from a large Beverly Hills hotel that hadn’t called in years.
I hurried over and was attending a guest when there was a knock. The guest was not dressed, so I opened the door and found myself face to face with one of the young concierge doctors who had entered the field. I suspected that this was his hotel.
Hotels occasionally summon another doctor when the first is slow arriving. Since I’m never slow, I’m always the second doctor, and I’ve usually come and gone by the time the original appears.
“Looks like a communications slip-up,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
I closed the door and went back to work. When I returned to the lobby, the concierge apologized for the mix up, blaming the impatient guest.
She handed me an envelope. This was one of the few hotels that pay the doctor directly, adding the fee to the guest’s bill. Counting the money, and I noticed it was too little. She had given half to the other doctor, but since his fee was much larger than mine I didn’t do badly.