Cheap motels have many advantages from a
hotel doctor’s point of view.
Valets are absent, so I can park inside and
safely ignore the threatening signs. Security is absent, so elevators respond
to whatever floor I push, and I don’t have to explain myself to the front desk.
Americans are absent because they can’t afford the fee. I love America but I
also love foreign patients. They’re deferential, and they don’t sue.
On the downside, customer service declines
with the price of the room. I often need to call in a prescription or consult
with the insurance. When I pick up the hotel phone and punch “9” for an outside
line, I may hear a busy signal because many hotels require a deposit before
opening the phone. If I identify myself as a doctor, larger hotels open the
line, but clerks in cheap hotels refuse unless the guest comes down and pays.
Insurers send me to hotels that don’t call,
so I take the opportunity to introduce myself. In mainline hotels, staff
remember their manners. They smile, listen intently as I make my pitch, agree
that my service sounds wonderful, and thank me effusively for my business card.
Then they probably forget about me. It’s rare to pick up business, but I always
leave feeling good.
In cheap motels, clerks don’t disguise their lack
of interest. “Nobody gets sick,” they say.