Kevin clicked through the introductory video, only passively absorbing any of the information as lame sounding music featuring uplifting rock guitars—probably stock and licensed from some third party website—stuttered and skipped with his clicking. Images flashed on the screen featuring obviously staged scenes of what was likely supposed to be frat bros ‘partying’ interspersed with charts of skyrocketing Crypto Stock Trends and shots of monkeys in the jungle. That last one was a strange choice, he laughed to himself, though he guessed he could see the connection even if it was a stretch.
The website advertised Ape Frat - A New Breed of NFT’s: Empowering Crypto Change for a Brighter, More Environmentally Conscious Future. He rolled his eyes as he glanced over the lofty promises he really didn’t care about. As long as it checked certain boxes, he felt morally justified in his actual pursuits.
When his girlfriend Samantha had heard of his desire to jump on the NFT Fad Bandwagon, he’d been disappointed at her explosive aversion to the idea. “Those are so fucking stupid, Kev. They’re anti-artist and so bad for the environment it’s not even funny,” she’d bitched, “Don’t do it, Kevin. I’m serious. Do you have any idea how badly those things fuck over artists?”
Of course she’d be over-sensitive about the whole art thing. An Art Major still living with her parents, it wasn’t like she was actually making much money off of her artwork and commissions. NFTs were the future, if Reddit and Social Media were to believed, and he’d been getting pretty into Crypto of late. This was surely future-proof, and she’d thank him for securing their financial future once he’d flipped it and made millions. Besides, it was his money.
Still, he might as well win Brownie Points if he was going to go against her wishes like this.
Besides, the NFTs all over the news were way outside of his price range. And he had to admit they looked fucking stupid. Sure the point of the thing was to have a digital property, but couldn’t the art at least look…good instead of like a paper-doll flash game from the early 2000s?
That’s actually what had drawn him to this particular website. It was clearly catering to his general demographic, and the monkey pictures here were a much better art-style, in his opinion. Plus, he could customize it a bit before finalizing the purchase. At ~$5000 a pop, it seemed like a much better deal to get into on the Ground Floor, especially if he held onto it for a while—Diamond Hands, right? Prices were down, Futures were looking up. He had to strike now while the iron was hot.
He’d spent the last hour or so customizing his planned purchase as a brown monkey grinned stupidly at him from his screen, sporting blue Ray-Bans and flipping off the camera while wearing an unbuttoned blue-and-white Hawaiian Shirt and a matching baseball cap turned backwards. Satisfied, he quickly clicked through the pages of fine print and legal disclaimers, eager to finalize the purchase.
0.12 BTC just about wiped out his balance, but this would pay off in spades in a couple of years, he felt very confident about the whole thing.
When the webpage refreshed, however, Kevin frowned as he was greeted by an unexpected Order Confirmation page. Instead of instructions to transfer his NFT to his crypto-wallet, he was simply given a physical address and a time, along with a link to download a high-res copy of the picture he’d assembled.
Had he just been fucking scammed by this fucking bullshit website? He punched his desk. What the FUCK? He slammed his laptop closed and threw his chair back in a huff, stomping to the bathroom to go take a piss. Returning, he sighed heavily and sat back down, opening the screen again to re-examine what he’d just wasted his money on.
The address was like 3 hours away from where he lived, and it appeared he had some sort of a booking set starting tomorrow afternoon. Had he bought a time-share or something? What in the hell?
He scoured the site for a Customer Service phone number or email, finding none. In fact, they had no “Contact Us” form whatsoever. He threw his head back, exasperatedly. Since he’d paid in bitcoin, it wasn’t like he could do a chargeback.
He’d have to go there tomorrow and explain his mistake. Surely they’d cancel the transaction, right?
——
Kevin pulled into the parking lot and got out of his car, blinking up at the massive building before him. This place was a fucking fortress, and looked brand-new. He double checked his phone to make sure he had come to the right place before striding up to the front door, the familiar logo etched in the frosted glass.
“Sir, for the seventeenth time, due to the nature of the transaction, all sales are final and cannot be refunded. Since you’re here, you’re free to continue with your booking, and will be eligible for the 0.005 BTC transfer promotion upon providing your testimonial after your week stay. Take it or leave it.” The man sitting behind the desk wore grey scrubs and a stolid expression.
“And for the twentieth time, Tad, I don’t have any of my shit with me.” All of his attempts to bully the employee into submission had been unsuccessful, and his attempt to escalate had been met with a deadpan ‘I am the Supervisor.’
“The booking is all inclusive. Food and clothing are provided.” Tad tapped at the brochure taped to the desk next to the bowl of fruit which consisted of mostly browning bananas.
“Can I just give the testimonial now and skip the stay? I’ll leave a positive review. I don’t care.” Kevin whined.
“No.”
Kevin sighed and checked his phone. He had already called out of work “sick” today, and could probably milk it for the rest of the week until his next days off. “Fine. God. And trust me. I’m going to leave a really honest review. Just you wait.”
After filling out his information and providing his driver’s license, Kevin stepped towards the double doors leading into the facility.
“Banana?” Tad offered.
“Sure. It’s included, right?” Kevin snatched it, his voice full of sarcastic venom as he stepped through the doors into the facility. As they swung closed and locked from the outside, the writing on the door read Non-Fungible Transformations.