I have nothing to go on but the address on the card. I have no idea what I’m headed to, but something better is on the other end of it. I’m certain of that. 

The route takes me down a bunch of country backroads I wouldn’t want to get stranded on. I don’t see anything but grass and dirt for miles in any direction. This goes on for a couple of hours. I start to think it’s all a cruel prank until I see the Zero-G-Fit compound in the distance. 

I park right in front, suddenly worried I’m in the wrong location. Walking in the front doors of the main building, it’s as though I’ve been teleported to a swanky, downtown corporate office. It feels out of place after looking at open fields and livestock for hours. Now I’m greeted to light jazz playing from unseen speakers and shiny floors. My running shoes squish as I walk towards the reception desk at the other end of the big open lobby. 

As I do, video-boards activate with ‘before and after’ of former clients. I recognize a few of them from videos online. Some from the testimonials, but others from online channels that have made them millionaires. 

They all have the same cycle: frumpy “before” person, transition to fresh and beautiful “after” person. Text saying this could be you in a bunch of uncreative ways. I want to say I’m smarter than this, but I’m not. I start to get a bit excited by the prospect. 

At the other end of the spacious lobby is a receptionist who feels a little like a “before”. It kind of makes sense. If you had the treatment, would you still be here? It seems anyone that gets this treatment immediately ends up in a life of luxury, not a receptionist in the middle of a cornfield.  

“Card,” She says to me, without looking up. 

I’m thrown off by the abruptness. I shuffle through my wallet and find the card I’ve been fiddling with for a couple days, the edges now bent inward.

“Hi. Penelope sent me here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there a pamphlet or flyer to look over? Penelope wouldn’t tell me much and I couldn’t find anything online.”

“Name?”

“Mine? Jayden Rowe.”

Eleven taps later to type that in and she puts a hand out in the direction of some uncomfortable, but stylish looking chairs arranged against the wall. 

“Take a seat, Mr. Rowe. Someone will be with you shortly.”

“About the pamphlet.”

“It won’t be long. Take a seat.”

There’s no one here except myself and the receptionist. No one is coming in or out. Just the virtual models popping appearing on the video screens around the lobby. It’s a little unsettling, but before I’m too comfortable in the stiff lobby chair, the receptionist shoots up from her desk. She gathers some papers and walks over to me. Her heels aggressively clicking on the tiles. 

She holds out a laminated lanyard with my name written in black, bold type. Under my name is a barcode. 

“Head to the 3rd floor. Elevators are down the hall,” She says, pointing again. “Good luck.” 

I get up and head in the direction she’s pointing. 

“Sir,” She calls out before I make it out of her line of sight. “The lanyard.”

I notice it’s still in my hand. I hang it around my neck and give her a thumbs-up. She nods and click-clacks her way back to her desk. 

I get in a waiting elevator and hit “3”. It doesn’t light up and the doors remain open. I hit it a few more times. I take a couple of steps out of the elevator when the receptionist calls out.

“The barcode, Mr. Rowe.”

I get back in the elevator and see a small black square with a red light inside. I hold the lanyard up to it. The doors immediately close and the “3” lights up. I don’t get a chance to yell back a ‘thank you’ before the doors slam.