By Dawn Gilbertson | Photographs by Daeja Fallas for WSJ
KAANAPALI BEACH, Hawaii -- Tom Cooper stopped midsentence when he heard the clack clack clack of a metal lounge chair shifting into prime sunbathing position.
It was 6:10 a.m. on Thanksgiving Day. The sun wasn't yet up, but his shift as pool-chair policeman was under way.
Cooper, age 56, swiveled his head toward the lower pool deck at Marriott's Maui Ocean Club. His job: Make sure guests don't save too many chairs. The resort's rule, posted at the towel hut and on eight signs, says each guest can save just one extra seat. Need more? Rouse the family.
And don't even think of throwing down towels and disappearing for hours; your stuff will be removed.
Pool-chair hogs are the bane of travelers who want to sleep in on vacation. They've often spent big money and expect quality time by the primo pool whose pictures drew them in. It's a vexing problem for hotels and cruises in warm-weather destinations, especially in peak vacation season.
Some resorts are charging fees for pool side seating to manage the congestion. Most rely on employees like Cooper, if anyone, to monitor the madness.
Cooper's title is safety and security officer, but he spends most of his time policing chairs. The 719-unit timeshare resort has about 300 lounge chairs at its "super pool." (There are 375 more chairs at smaller pools that aren't typically policed.)
Saving pool chairs elicits more guest complaints than anything but disappointing room views, general manager Bill Countryman said. One recent Tripadvisor reviewer reported finding a girl sleeping on a lounge chair at daybreak with eight adjacent seats saved.
The job can be thankless. Cooper said he's often called a "chair Nazi" -- a la the "Soup Nazi" from "Seinfeld." But he prefers the title bestowed by a 13-year-old guest several years ago: "the poolice." (Not everyone hates him. He's won Marriott Vacations awards for customer service.)
Walking the beat
The pool cop starts walking the beat at 6 a.m. five days a week. He estimates he logs about 6 miles a day around the pool. I tagged along for two shifts over the holiday weekend.
Most days a handful of early birds greet him perched in their favorite spots on the lower deck, which is closest to the beach and restaurants and gets sun first.
From the start, Cooper -- who joined the Marriott as a cook 27 years ago -- hunts for scofflaws. He asks those in violation to remove towels and other items from neighboring chairs until their reinforcements arrive.
Some take it personally. "Is this just for me?" asked one guest, who was saving three chairs. "It wasn't this way last year," another griped. Cooper outlines the policy and points to nearby signs. He usually ends the conversation with, "My name is Tom if you need anything."
Even return guests he's Facebook friends with aren't exempt.
"Is this yours?" he asked one Thanksgiving week regular at 6:17 a.m. Thursday morning. The man had placed the resort's green-and-white striped towels on four chairs, including his own.
"My son's on his way," he replied. "He had a little trouble getting up this morning."
Cooper playfully told him on back-to-back days to get the 21-year-old college student out of bed. The guest obliged.
Cooper's been on the job long enough to spot trouble from afar. Just after 7 a.m. Thursday, he saw a woman toting 13 towels. "There's a prime suspect," he joked.
As she laid them out on neighboring chairs, Cooper made his approach and explained the rules. She asked if it was a new policy. (It's been in place for more than a decade.)
Another family sent their older teenager down to plop towels on several chairs. Cooper let the kid know the rules. The teen immediately picked up his phone and said, "Can you get down here?"
"If we don't make them come down, then they won't come down," Cooper said.
Game of tag
The stakes get raised when Cooper starts enforcing the other major rule at the pool: Items unattended for more than an hour will be removed.
Resorts everywhere have similar rules, but the Maui Ocean Club pays more than lip service.
Cooper starts the timer after an unofficial grace period. He scans sections of the pool for chairs with towels and no people. If he doesn't see a member of the party nearby -- in the pool, at the bar, at the Beach Walk food counter -- for roughly 20 minutes, he heads over to the chairs and slaps a tag on them.
The laminated note reads, "Chairing is caring: Aloha, we hope you are having a great time. Belongings left on pool chairs before 7 a.m. or left unattended for over 1 hour will be collected by your pool safety team."
Call it a poolside parking ticket.
During my visit, I watched him leave about a dozen tags per shift. To vacationers who quibble that they weren't gone for more than an hour, he provides proof. Each tag has a QR code, which Cooper scans when he affixes it to the chair and when he removes any items. He also writes the times down on laminated sheets with the layout for each pool deck.
Most people return before 60 minutes pass, a sign that enforcement is working. Cooper only made three removals over two days.
A few regulars keep an eye on their empty chairs from their rooms and swoop in after they see Cooper's tag.
"Don't even waste your time, buddy," Bonnie Naulty joked Friday after Cooper tagged their chairs for the second day in a row.
Naulty, who lives in Sacramento and visits the resort every Thanksgiving with her extended family, wishes the rules were more generous. Her two villas can accommodate 16 people, so having eight people up early at the pool is a bit much. Still, she appreciates tough justice for chair hogs.
"It's B.S. if people leave for half the day and go on an excursion. I don't think that's fair," she said.
Stacey Winters wasn't happy when she returned from breakfast Friday to find her water bottle, paper fan and towels missing. A laminated note was on the chair but she didn't see it.
Cooper was called to the towel desk to meet her. The note left on her chair showed the chairs were tagged at 9:18 a.m. and items removed at 10:30 a.m. He took her to a security cabinet to retrieve them. (When disputes escalate -- and they do -- guests are referred to the front desk.)
"It's fair. I get it," Winters said. "I still wasn't happy."
Several years ago, Cooper's wife returned from a snorkeling trip down the beach with their grandkids to an unwelcome surprise.
"She couldn't believe I removed her stuff," he said. "I make exceptions for no one."
Write to Dawn Gilbertson at dawn.gilbertson@wsj.com
(END) Dow Jones Newswires
December 03, 2024 21:00 ET (02:00 GMT)
Copyright (c) 2024 Dow Jones & Company, Inc.
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