Vehicle Rapture

The sign outside the building said "skip to hire", but that was a lie. I walked through the open doorway hesitantly. Inside was another door with an odd sign. "Interstellar Travel Agency," it read. After a long pause, I opened the next door and walked through that as well.

The online test had seemed innocent enough, much like every other online test I'd ever taken. "Do you like to travel?" "Would you prefer to drive a car or take a train to your destination?" But the questions went on for much longer than the usual online test, and they didn't seem to have anything to do with my personality. There were questions about what kind of bike I had, and whether I would be willing to travel to another country, questions about my general physical condition. Some of the questions were personal, more personal than I would usually answer... but by that point, I'd answered so many, a few more didn't seem to matter.

I drew the line at revealing my weight, though. But when I tried to close the browser, it refused to close. Instead, a pop-up message appeared, with an address not far from my flat.

I stared at it for a long while. It seemed really foolish. Who would go to an address with no idea of what awaited them there? What if it was a trap, set by desperate criminals? It could even be a ruthless gang of bike thieves, who had asked all those questions just to find out what bike I rode and what condition it was in.

But finally my curiosity got the better of me. That's how I ended up in the lobby of the "Interstellar Travel Agency."

You'd expect aliens in a place that calls itself an interstellar anything, wouldn't you? But there were no aliens. Just a tired, stressed looking older woman who nodded at me as I entered the room, motioning me to one of the overstuffed chairs that ringed the room. "Mr. Folsom will see you in a moment."

I waited, growing more tense by the moment. Finally he came through the flimsy wooden door. "Hello," he said. "I was wondering, have you ever considered purchasing a week's vacation in a luxury villa?"

My worst fears were realised. They weren't aliens, or criminals.

They were time-share salesmen.