A travel insurer reported a sick child at the Anaheim
Holiday Inn, near Disneyland forty miles away. Freeway traffic was tolerable,
but when I arrived and knocked no one answered.
I walked around the lobby. With
my suit, beard, and black bag, I look like a doctor in an old Hollywood movie,
but no one responded. A waitress in the hotel restaurant asked at everyone’s
table, but no one admitted calling a doctor.
I drove away in a good mood. When hotel guests call and then disappear, I’m out of luck, but travel insurers pay for no-show visits.
I was a mile from home when the
insurer called. The mother was on the line, claiming she had been waiting in
the hotel. So
I drove back to Anaheim.
To my everlasting credit, I was entirely pleasant to the mother, waving off her
excuses. The child had a cold.
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