I.
Anyone can spend a week in Orlando, taking selfies with Micky Mouse and getting soaked on Splash Mountain. Anyone can pose with their pookie in front of the Eiffel Tower or with their Study Abroad Squad beside La Sagrada Familia. But how many people get to explore the fantastic and nightmarish depths of a city with over thirty microclimates, from humid to frigid to rainy to fiery, and so on? With just the shake of a hand or click of a friend request button or even a swipe of a dating profile you can secure a ticket to the thrilling city of Zettropoli
You may be wondering: Is this bustling, breathtaking city just for tourists, or can I submerge myself in the thrill of all its culture? Good question! Allow me to pose another question in return… Do you want to submerge yourself in the thrill of all its culture? Zettropolis citizens, while they are never bored, are ten times more likely to suffer from second-hand embarrassment, supplemented by muscle tightness from so much cringing. If you stay for a week or two, it is suggested that you stay in a neighboring town to avoid the dangers of the night. While the city’s chaotic vibe yields fun attractions, like the Museum of Regret, which displays drunken texts and portraits of young men in beanies with pretentious smirks on their faces, the nightlife may not be worth the thrill.
The darkness brings with it a grimy crew, which locals call The Sads. Make no mistake, The Sads are not some hip local band (but do keep an eye out for house concerts from groups like Obsessive Ranting, Shrinks & Energy Drinks, and Oh God This Is My Life). The Sads control the night. Come within twenty feet of them, and they will lure you into a dark ally, where they’ll sedate you with booze, bud, and Bojack Horseman. If you think this sounds fun… it is. But next thing you know, your mind will lift out of your body, and you will look at yourself from the outside in. Lying there. Unable to get up. Until the morning haze creeps through the clouds, and you re-enter your body. You wake up in a puddle of your own sweat. Where am I? You ask no one. You are in Zettropolis.
II.
I’m browsing the internet, as I always do after a busy tourist season, for reviews of Zettropolis. My eyes squint at the text as I mush my cheek with my palm. “What?” I say to my laptop screen. “These reviews are … good?” I shake my head. “Must be trolls.”
My brain twists as I read things like, “Zettropolis was the perfect way to escape my failing marriage!” and “This was a safe and fun place to bring toddlers on vacation.” Five stars shine in my eyes, temporarily blinding me.
They totally don’t get Zettropolis. It is not a soothing getaway for the nearly-divorced. It is not a safe, fun destination for toddlers. It is a place for people to confront their pain. And elation. And adventure. And more pain.
“The weather really kept us on our toes,” says Yelp-user RespectableAccountant123. “The sun turned my hair blonde! And the rain provided some super splashy puddles for little Sally and Johnny. I was delighted to put my new L.L. Bean raincoat to use—not to mention my fire extinguisher. Tammy always nags me about bringing that thing on all our trips, but this time, it saved me and my family’s life, so you can suck it Tammy. What a thrill! Five stars for Zettropolis.”
Did these tourists even look out their windows to see the muddy hills and slushy sidewalks? Did they hear the crows squawking every morning, their caws vaguely resembling the words, “You Suck!”? Were they not kept awake by the roof-thumping rainshowers falling to the tune of echoing sobs?
They must have left Zettropolis with both sunburn and frostbite. Maybe they only felt the sting later, once they were in their comfy suburban homes. Maybe they nestled into bed, appreciating their stay at Zettropolis but joyfully greeting the warm, fluffy quilt’s embrace.
I notice a pattern in these reviews. They all mention wanting to come back again, but just once a year or two. They’ll return for the sights and the thrills, things they only enjoy because they get to go back home.
“I guess that makes sense,” I say to my computer screen. “Never attracting residents, only tourists.”
