By 9:15 a.m., the pool deck at the Sunridge Palms Resort looked like a postcard: bright umbrellas, a shimmer of blue water, and that sleepy vacation hush where everyone’s still deciding between coffee and sunscreen. But by mid-morning, a different scene had started to draw quiet attention. Three prime lounge chairs in the front row—close enough to hear the water ripple—sat empty except for three neatly folded towels and a paperback turned face-down like a placeholder.
Guests walked by, slowed down, then kept going with the familiar expression of someone doing mental math: “Do I wait? Do I ask? Do I pretend I didn’t see it?” One couple circled twice, then settled in the back near the fence. A dad juggling pool noodles and a snack bag paused, scanned the empty chairs, and sighed like he’d just lost a small, private battle.
The Towels That Launched a Thousand Side-Eyes
According to several guests who spoke on the pool deck, the chairs were claimed early by a family of five who arrived shortly after the pool opened. They laid down towels, placed a small tote bag on one chair, and then—within minutes—left the area. Over the next few hours, the chairs stayed empty while other guests searched for spots in the growing heat.
By late morning, the pool was busy enough that the empty front-row chairs felt less like a harmless habit and more like a tiny injustice. People weren’t shouting or causing a scene, but the mood shifted into that low-grade tension you get in a crowded airport gate when someone’s bag is taking up an extra seat. The towels, bright and cheery, became the main characters of the day.
“We’re Using Them Eventually”
The issue came to a head around 11:30 a.m., when a guest—another parent, by most accounts—finally asked whether the chairs were actually in use. The family’s response, as multiple people recounted it, was simple: they were “using them eventually.” One guest described the tone as casual, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to reserve three seats for a future version of yourself.
The family did return briefly once or twice, guests said, though not to actually settle in. One adult stopped by to adjust the towels and grab something from the tote, then disappeared again. The chairs remained empty long enough that several onlookers started timing it without meaning to, the way you do when you’re waiting for your number to be called at the deli.
Why Pool Chair “Saving” Gets So Personal
If this sounds like a small problem, that’s kind of the point. Vacation is where people go to relax, so when a tiny inconvenience pops up, it can feel bigger than it would at home. A lounge chair isn’t just a chair; it’s shade, proximity to your kids, a place for your drink, and a tiny patch of calm you can claim as yours for a few hours.
And there’s a fairness instinct at play. Most people are fine with someone stepping away to swim, use the restroom, or grab lunch—normal, short absences that are part of pool life. What rubs people the wrong way is the idea of holding space indefinitely, especially during peak hours when others are left with limited options.
The Resort’s Policy: “Occupied” Means Occupied
Sunridge Palms staff said the resort does have guidelines, though like many properties, enforcement can be tricky when everyone’s trying to enjoy themselves. A front-desk representative noted that chairs aren’t meant to be reserved for long stretches without anyone present. In general, the resort considers a chair “in use” if a guest is actively on the pool deck and returning within a reasonable timeframe.
Several guests said they’d seen staff remove towels on previous days when chairs sat unattended for too long, though it didn’t happen immediately in this case. One employee, speaking informally near the towel station, mentioned that staff often wait for a lull or a complaint before stepping in. It’s a balancing act: nobody wants a vacation scolding, but nobody wants a towel-based land grab either.
Other Guests React: Quiet Frustration, Not Chaos
What’s striking is how calm the whole thing stayed. No shouting, no dramatic towel-flinging, no viral-video theatrics. The most common response was passive adaptation: guests moved farther from the pool, shared chairs, or sat on the edge with feet in the water, which is fun until you realize you’re basically a human chair yourself.
Still, the frustration was real. “If you’re actually here, fine,” one guest said while adjusting a hat and pointing at the empty row. “But if you’re in your room for two hours, it’s not saving. It’s just… claiming.” Another guest compared it to saving parking spots with a traffic cone, except the cone is fluffy and suspiciously patterned.
The Family’s Side: Planning, Kids, and the Myth of “Later”
Families with kids often do have a legitimate reason to set up a “home base,” especially if they’re juggling naps, snacks, swim diapers, and the sudden emotional need for exactly one specific inflatable. Some guests speculated that the family might’ve been rotating between breakfast, the room, and the pool, trying to manage the day in shifts. In that sense, “eventually” might’ve meant “as soon as we can get everyone out the door again.”
But other guests pointed out that good intentions don’t always land well in shared spaces. Saving three chairs suggests a long stay—and a big footprint—whether or not that’s what’s happening. And when the pool is packed, “later” starts to feel like a loophole, not a plan.
A Problem as Old as the Resort Towel
Veteran travelers say this kind of chair-saving is common, especially at resorts where the number of loungers doesn’t match demand. Some places post signs warning that unattended items will be removed after 30 or 60 minutes, while others quietly let the social pressure do the work. The “towel claim” has become such a trope that some guests joked it should come with its own check-in time and a tiny legal disclaimer.
Of course, the internet has only made it more of a thing. People arrive already primed for the battle of the loungers, setting alarms like they’re buying concert tickets. On the flip side, staff are increasingly stuck in the middle, expected to referee a game no one wants to admit they’re playing.
What Guests Say They Want: Clear Rules and Consistent Follow-Through
By early afternoon, the family did eventually use the chairs for a stretch, according to nearby guests, though the moment had already passed. The bigger takeaway, several people said, was that the resort could avoid most of the awkwardness with clearer signage and consistent enforcement. When guests know the rule—and see it applied evenly—the tension tends to evaporate.
In the meantime, the pool deck returned to its usual rhythm: splashing, sun hats, the steady shuffle of flip-flops, and the universal quest for a patch of shade. The towels stayed put, but the conversation lingered, because everyone knows the truth. On vacation, time moves slowly—unless you’re waiting for someone to “use a chair eventually.”
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As a mom of three busy boys, I know how chaotic life can get — but I’ve learned that it’s possible to create a beautiful, cozy home even with kids running around. That’s why I started Cultivated Comfort — to share practical tips, simple systems, and a little encouragement for parents like me who want to make their home feel warm, inviting, and effortlessly stylish. Whether it’s managing toy chaos, streamlining everyday routines, or finding little moments of calm, I’m here to help you simplify your space and create a sense of comfort.
But home is just part of the story. I’m also passionate about seeing the world and creating beautiful meals to share with the people I love. Through Cultivated Comfort, I share my journey of balancing motherhood with building a home that feels rich and peaceful — and finding joy in exploring new places and flavors along the way.
