Almost Stiffed - The Life of a Hotel Doctor

"The guest is a servant," reported the desk clerk as I passed to visit a luxury suite rented by guests from the Middle-East. "The hotel will not be able to cover the fee."

The guest who answered the door was Filipino, the usual nationality for servants of the wealthy in the Middle-East. She showed me a rash on her neck. It was a simple contact dermatitis. I explained and handed her a tube of cortisone cream. That, of course, was the easy part.

It was disturbing to notice that she was alone. I suspected she did not expect to pay; sure enough, she looked puzzled when I presented my invoice and more puzzled when I explained that the hotel would not pay.

I passed an uncomfortable ten minutes as she noodled with her cell phone, trying to reach her employers. Had they deliberately absented themselves to avoid paying? It might not have been deliberate; sometimes extremely rich people never concern themselves with paying for stuff because it's always taken care of.

Eventually the patient succeeded. Conversation in Arabic followed. Apparently her employers consulted hotel management, and I was paid.