[2:30 a.m.] OK, this was so weird, I had to share it with someone—like the entire world on the Internet. I’m sitting in my hotel room, in the middle of a hurricane, talking to an editor back at the Tribune. And into my room walks this young guy with his suitcase looking at me with this blank expression. Apparently, the brilliant and hard-working front desk staff (you know, the ones that work the graveyard shift at a budget hotel, then go work for NASA in the morning gluing thermal tiles to space shuttles) had given him the wrong key. When I say “key,” I mean those horrible plastic cards that work one of out seven attempts in a hotel door.

The guy, who I believe was here working for the Weather Channel’s Web site, was apologetic and seemed a bit embarrassed. I acted like it was no big deal. I was, after all, still wearing shorts and even had a shirt on. But then I thought of the “what ifs.” Like, what if I had been, uh, taking a shower. Or at that this time of night, sleeping. If I was one of those types that sleep with a gun beside their bed, I could have blown his head off. And I believe there’s a new law in Florida that gives me the right to do just that. So let this be a lesson to you. Whenever you stay at a hotel during a hurricane, always, always put that little latch thing across the door. And always, always, ask the front desk if they’ve been sniffing glue lately. You could save you and your would-be intruder from a very awkward situation.