Ever Hopeful - The Life of a Hotel Doctor
Years ago, I shared a Four Seasons elevator with Robert Duvall. He was reading a script, and I pretended not to notice.
Years ago, I shared a Four Seasons elevator with Robert Duvall. He was reading a script, and I pretended not to notice.
A wave of heat poured out of the guest's room as he opened the door.
Waiting at the local carwash, my eye ran over a sheet of ads along one wall. Among notices for personal injury lawyers, pest control, acupuncturists, and pizzas was a photo of a smiling young man in a white coat carrying a doctor's bag. According to the text, a phone call would bring him to your door at a fee less than an emergency room's. All ads for housecalls deliver this cheerful boast, never mentioning that the average ER visit, as of 2017, cost $1400.
As a wave of uncertainty overtakes consumer sentiment, investors are using this time to pause and reflect on their assets. Some hotel Owners have concluded that there are areas of improvement at their hotels that would help in maintaining the asset's value through these troublous times. One course of action is the review and revision of the contracts or agreements that impact their hotel's operations, and they are wise to do so. Most notably, the Hotel Management Agreement (HMA) is at the top of our clients' reading list.
More than once I'm called when a guest suffers a tragic loss such as the death of a child or spouse. Distressed to witness the misery, family members want me to put her to sleep.
"She thinks her drink was spiked," explained the caller whose friend was bent over the toilet, vomiting. I explained that alcohol is a toxic drug and occasionally provokes this reaction. Common stomach viruses cause most vomiting. Did her friend want me to come?
The results are in from two Cendyn surveys polling hoteliers across the globe on how they are coping with the effects of COVID-19. Gauge the industry pulse and read first-hand accounts of how hoteliers are dealing with the coronavirus on both an individual level and as an operation.
"Someone needs to check my nephew. He's shaking and really upset. How quick can you be here?" The child was in good health before a fire alarm roused everyone from bed at midnight. He seemed frightened, perhaps more than usual. I had no doubt that he would recover, but that was hard to communicate.
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 I don't have to explain myself to the front desk, and elevators respond when I push a button.
"Speak Spanish?" Two of my least favorite words. Ninety percent of Latin American guests speak enough English to get along, and Hispanic hotel staff are usually available. Unfortunately, this visit occurred at a small Super 8, and the single employee on duty was American.
"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."
A worried mother phoned, asking me to see her two-year-old with a fever.
Though the arc of people with confirmed cases of COVID-19 is going up as more individuals are tested, the curve of the average daily death toll appears to have flattened. This indicates that the act of social distancing will keep our ICU capacity from being overwhelmed as it was in Hunan and Italy. We can only hope.
A young man stood blocking the door. "I want to see your license," he said. I showed him. He examined it suspiciously and didn't move.
A caller had been suffering an itchy rash for a week. Three companions were also affected. That sounded good. When more than one person has a medical problem, it's the same problem and not serious.
Over the phone, a tour leader explained that one of his group wanted a doctor to look at her hand. She had fallen.
In summer, wearing a suit and tie, I'm reminded of how much I resent hotels that refuse to let me park free. I only learned that the Casa Del Mar didn't when the clerk declined to validate, and I was stuck for $20. But the Casa Del Mar is on the beach where it's cool enough to walk a few blocks without suffering.
A man at a Beverly Hills hotel had struck his head on the edge of a table. Blood was gushing, and he wanted a doctor.
A national housecall service informed me that a caller in Huntington Beach was having a panic attack. He had had them before, and he needed a doctor to come and make sure he wasn't dying.
A guest at the Westin wanted a doctor. I quoted the fee, always a tense moment. "Do you take insurance?" If the caller is American, the visit is doomed, but he wasn't. I asked the insurance carrier's name.