The J.W. Marriott is not a regular, but its doctor is
not a friend, so I don’t turn down its calls which arrive now and then.
Driving downtown, I had no worries about the patient but
recalled that visiting the J.W. Marriott was often an unpleasant experience. Sure
enough, the valet ignored a request to hold my car, gave me a parking slip, and
drove the car deep into the bowels of the hotel.
The elevator required a room key. I waited for a guest,
but apparently new technology makes it impossible to piggy-back on another’s
key. I walked to the front desk and asked to use the elevator. This struck the
clerk as a suspicious request.
An elderly man in a suit, carrying a doctor’s bag, and
claiming to be a doctor might or might not be telling the truth. She politely
quizzed me on my motives, phoned the room to confirm, and then asked me to wait
while she summoned a security officer.
The officer remained at my side until the guest opened
the door. After the visit, I returned to the lobby and handed over the parking
slip. The desk clerk stared at it as if she had never seen one and then excused
herself to consult the manager.
I waited several minutes until she returned to hand back
the slip and explain that the hotel “was unable” to validate parking.
Downtown hotel parking is brutally expensive, and I
remembered the same difficulty during earlier visits. Everyone hates hotel
parking, so its cashiers are immune to arguments. I scribbled “hotel doctor” on
the slip, shoved it through the window, and hurried away to stand at the curb.
No one ran after me, and after a few minutes my car appeared. I don’t do that often,
but so far it’s always worked.
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