“Doctor Lusman is out of town. Could you speak to
a guest at the Fairmont?”
That was a jolt. Lusman was an ambitious young
doctor who had phoned months earlier to introduce himself and offer to cover my
hotels when I wanted to get away. I declined but suspected he was poaching. For
Lusman to instruct his answering service to send me to one of my regulars
showed immense gall or perhaps immense confidence.
In private practice it’s unethical to solicit
another physician’s patients, but hotels are a grey area. Established hotel
doctors who want to remain on friendly terms do not step on each other’s toes. I
had made hundreds of visits to the Fairmont.
After the visit,
I stopped by the concierge desk to mention that a guest had called another
doctor.
Her eyes widened. “Gosh, I don’t know
what happened, Doctor Oppenheim. The guest never talked to me.”
I felt better. Maybe it was an
innocent mistake. This feeling lasted until I passed the front desk, and a
bellman called out.
“Doctor! My name is Andre. I’m glad
to meet you.” He hurried over, holding out his hand; we shook. “It was me that
called you for the guest. Is he doing OK?”
I knew what this meant.
“Who do you think I am?”
The bellman cocked his head. “Aren’t
you Doctor Lusman? People say I should call Doctor Lusman.”
“I’m Doctor Oppenheim, the hotel’s
doctor.”
He looked confused. “Where’s Doctor Lusman?”
“He’s not available. You should call
me in the future.” I walked away, pleased at frustrating the bellman who
clearly expected a payoff. Bellmen were hopeless, I told myself. Concierges
were the key to a hotel’s loyalty, and it looked liked they were still in my
corner.
But this happened some time ago, and
I haven’t heard from the Fairmont since.
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