Burned

A guest in a hotel restaurant asked a waiter to light her cigarette. When he complied, her forefinger burst into flame. She had recently put on acrylic nails, and the fresh cement is very flammable. Drunk and enraged, the guest refused to go to an emergency room. By the time I appeared, she had grown tired of hurling abuse. Head resting on the table, she was sobbing. Spilled drinks and broken glass littered the area.

Security officers had cleared the room. Near the entrance, a crowd of clerks, patrons, and the night manager parted to allow my passage and observe my performance. Although not a master at handling drunks, I understood the soothing effect of an old man with a grey beard and carrying a doctor’s bag.

Patting her shoulder until she looked up, I introduced myself and suggested we go to her room. After dressing the burn, I stayed long enough for her pain to give way to the effects of alcohol, and I could assure everyone she would cause no more trouble.

Paying My Fee

It’s less than the going rate, but no one considers it cheap.

When guests phone, I focus on their problems. Half the time, a housecall isn’t necessary. Once we’ve agreed that I should come, I mention the fee. About ten percent of callers reconsider, but almost no one does so directly. I hear….

“Let me talk to my husband and get back to you.”

“Our tour leaves in half an hour. I’ll call when we’re back and set up the appointment.”

“I’m going to try to ride this out, but I’ll let you know.”

“I need to check with my insurance.”

All doctors maintain that they never turn away a patient unable to pay. This is not an actual lie - provided we’re the ones who decide who’s unable.

I’m generous with guests from motels and youth hostels who are clearly not affluent, but plenty of callers are paying a daily hotel bill well in excess of mine. They object to my fee just as they hesitate at $5.00 coffee at Starbucks or $200 for an orchestra seat at a hit play. They know that $1.00 coffee at McDonalds or a $50 balcony seat provides a similar experience, more or less. I direct them to urgent-care clinics that accomplish this.

Hotel Doctor to the Stars

Now and then an agent expresses interest in my memoirs.

You don’t think I have memoirs?... I’ve been hotel doctoring since the 1980s, and I had literary ambitions long before. My proposal has been making the rounds for decades, and agents often respond. Our conversation always covers the same ground.

“‘Memoirs of a Los Angeles hotel doctor.’ That’s a great idea! It sounds like you’ve seen celebrities.”

“A few.”

“Did you see Michael Jackson?”

“Many hotel doctors saw Michael Jackson.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Doctors can’t do that.”

That ends the conversation. I suspect agents dislike hearing that my memoirs don’t discuss famous people, even those who’ve died. It’s correct that you can’t libel the dead, but you can anger surviving loved-ones; they’ve been known to sue. 

My book proposal continues to make the rounds, but it’s possible that you will be my only audience.

Cancelling a Housecall

A guest at the Doubletree wanted a doctor to examine his son’s ear. I was getting in my car five minutes later when the phone rang again.

“I’m really sorry,” said the guest. “The hotel called another doctor, and he’s on his way, so we have to cancel.” That was a shock. The Doubletree is a regular. Was another doctor poaching? This is not a rare occurrence.

I asked the doctor’s name. The guest wasn’t certain. What was his phone number? He didn’t know. I phoned the hotel. The operator assured me that she had given out my number and no one else’s.

To my relief, I realized that the guest had simply changed his mind and wanted to cancel. He assumed that a blunt cancellation would upset me, so he invented an excuse – not realizing that the excuse was more upsetting.