This weekend I visited a friend who lives near one of Florida's great hotels, and frequently enjoys the amenities. He told me a few months ago that he had just spent a pleasant afternoon in the hotel garden reading Edmund Spenser's The Fairie Queene.

I assumed that he had taken out some sort of membership given to local residents that allowed him onto the property. But no, he just walks in. The other day, one of the employees called him "chief." He recently presented some complaints to the concierge.

The key, he said, is to get a towel. If you walk around with a towel, everyone assumes you belong. You're unapproachable, untouchable, as long as you've got a towel.

Something to keep in mind as hotel rates rise. Though, of course, he always goes home to sleep in the evening.