Welcome to C’est La Vie Ranch. Please take your personalized itineraries for your stay, I say to the thirtysomething women in Neiman Marcus blouses and dress pants in the lobby. We pass by the vaginal eggs, coffee enemas, and joint holders displayed in the window of the gift shop on the way. I tell them their journey into becoming an evolved person begins now. By being here, they are cleansing the negative energy infesting their souls.
When can we meet Chelsea, they ask in polite voices reserved for shareholders and compliant children. Chelsea is practicing new meditation techniques, I say and advise them to schedule a session with her. Standing by the computer, I stare at the open slots and tell them times are filling up quickly. I assure them their other classes can be rescheduled once they pick an appointment with Chelsea. I charge their credit cards in the system and tell them to be at peace.
Chelsea, with her devoted following of 100.5K followers hearting each inspirational cursive written meme, rummages through the cabinet of confiscated toxins. Found it, she declares as she brandishes a fired secretary’s pack of cigarettes. Did you see, she asks, that a former medium Twitter’s thread was trending. Flicking her wrist and dropping ash on the floor, she says her empire is and opens her fists. I remind her the camera crew will be coming over next week.