A few years ago, I dragged my carcass into a swanky Hawaiian resort, presented my credit card, and watched the front desk clerk turn ashen after entering a few keystrokes into her terminal. "Who are you?" she asked. Confused and exhausted after more than 20 hours of flying from London, I answered prosaically: "Joe Brancatelli." Then I tried a lame joke: "It's a common Hawaiian name." "No, I mean, who are you?" she repeated before turning her monitor toward me and pointing to my guest profile. Next to my name were six V's in front of V.I.P., about a dozen...
