All expenses 1:
The Catalog’s Final Mission: A Tale of Spectacular Failure
Prologue: The Curse That Bound Us
There existed among our crew something we called “the catalog” - a legendary collection of scams, schemes, and questionable adventures that had been our obsession for months. But one entry remained incomplete, haunting us like an unfinished symphony. The hardest scam of them all: a luxury vacation without spending a dime. The curse of the catalog would never lift until this final mission was complete.
The crew consisted of four unlikely conspirators: Smirnoff (our paranoid quartermaster), Icarus (the overconfident dreamer), BBW (the reluctant voice of reason), and Objector (armed with an arsenal of optimized cashback credit cards). All except Icarus were utterly dreading this expedition, yet none dared to be the coward who bailed. We found ourselves trapped in a prisoner’s dilemma where showing up was both the betrayal and the punishment.
Chapter 1: The False Start
At 10 AM sharp, we were supposed to have already escaped the city, our supplies packed in a motley collection of bags, winter clothes donned for the cold we anticipated. But gathering these supplies had become a Herculean task, thanks to Smirnoff’s obsessive planning for every conceivable catastrophe. Our quartermaster had made the fatal error of assuming everyone else would contribute to the preparation.
“Everyone needs to wear their winter clothes NOW,” Smirnoff insisted, as if speaking the words with enough authority could transform our ragtag band into a competent expedition team.
Our first objective seemed simple enough: reach Charm train station. The plan? Ride the bus for free - either sneak on or simply don’t pay. What could go wrong?
Everything, as it turned out.
We walked forty minutes to the bus stop, a trek that should have been our first warning about the day ahead. After waiting twenty minutes, we confidently boarded what we thought was our chariot to freedom. Twenty minutes into the ride, we made a horrifying discovery: we were heading to the Lidl near our house - not just the wrong bus, but the wrong direction entirely!
By 2 PM, we were still trapped in College Park like prisoners in our own neighborhood. Desperate times called for creative rules-lawyering.
“The trip doesn’t officially start until we leave College Park,” someone declared, and suddenly we found ourselves cramming into an almost-two-dollars-per-head Uber to Carleton station. Our commitment to spending no money had already cracked before we’d even begun.
Chapter 2: The Charm Train Gambit
At Carleton station, the real adventure finally commenced with our first official catalog scam: riding the train for free.
Charmpass, in its infinite wisdom, had created a semi-exploitable flaw. The ticket interface before purchasing looked almost identical to the ticket after purchasing. Our brilliant strategy: open the unpaid ticket and hope for no inspection, but if caught, flash the legitimate-looking unpaid ticket and pray.
But then Icarus, in a moment of dangerous inspiration, began advocating for something far more ambitious.
“Forget Charm,” he said with the confidence of someone who’d never faced federal charges. “Let’s sneak onto Amtrak.”
Smirnoff’s face went white. The realization hit him like a freight train - the very train we were about to illegally board.
“LET’S NOT FUCK WITH AMTRAK!” he shouted, panic raising his voice an octave. “That’s a felony!”
Sanity prevailed, barely. We stuck to the original plan: take the Charm train to a stop near a FlixBus route, then infiltrate a random bus that would carry us to destinations unknown. We’d agreed that DC and College Park were forbidden territories, and Baltimore… well, we really didn’t want to end up in Baltimore.
Chapter 3: The Great Train Robbery (That Wasn’t)
We boarded the train, splitting up to minimize casualties if our scheme collapsed. Icarus and Smirnoff took one car, sitting separately like strangers. Icarus perfected the art of pretending to sleep while Smirnoff crafted an elaborate pantomime of writing very important emails, occasionally glancing up with the harried expression of a busy professional.
Their performance was Oscar-worthy. The conductor never even approached them.
BBW and Objector, however, were not blessed with such theatrical genius. They were instantly caught, the security guard demanding payment and remaining utterly unimpressed by their unpaid ticket gambit.
BBW admitted defeat and paid up. But Objector, armed with his arsenal of credit cards - each one optimized for maximum cashback across different spending categories - experienced what he would later describe as “a critical system failure.” Card after card was declined, each rejection a small death to his faith in the American financial system.
“Just give me a minute,” Objector pleaded with the conductor, his voice carrying the desperation of a man watching his credit score crumble in real time. “I have complete faith in Chase and the US monetary system.”
The conductor, perhaps moved by this patriotic declaration, agreed to return later.
In a stroke of genius born from desperation, BBW photographed his paid ticket and sent it to the group chat. Objector, with sleight of hand that would make Houdini proud, showed the conductor the photo on his phone. The conductor squinted, nodded, and moved on.
The scam had achieved a ¾ success rate - surprisingly amazing compared to the disasters that lay ahead.
Chapter 4: The FlixBus Revelation
We rode the Charm train to our intended pit stop, disembarking with the confidence of seasoned travelers. We pulled up FlixBus routes on our phones, ready to execute the next phase of our master plan.
Then came the realization that would haunt us for the rest of the trip: FlixBus stations aren’t open on weekends.
We stood there, staring at our phones in horror, as the weight of our situation crashed down upon us. We had no way to leave our home region. The curse was mocking us.
“We could take Amtrak to Philly tomorrow,” someone suggested weakly. “Stay for a few stops, get off at the end. Seems safe enough.”
But we had an immediate problem. To lift the curse, we had to go somewhere besides DC that very day. We looked around at our options with growing dread, and saw only one path forward.
Baltimore.
“We have to continue on the train,” Smirnoff said, his voice hollow with defeat. “To Baltimore.”
Chapter 5: Welcome to Charm City
Baltimore greeted us with all the warmth of a tax audit. After leaving the station, we discovered what appeared to be the ruins of some wooden structure - perhaps once a luxury homeless establishment, now just the skeletal remains of a bygone era.
“It’s perfect,” someone said with the kind of dark optimism that develops during doomed expeditions. “Completely on brand for a CPC stall.”
We continued our trek through Baltimore, our supplies confidently displayed in Trader Joe’s bags like badges of suburban respectability. The FlixBus plan still flickered in our minds like a dying ember of hope.
Chapter 6: The Ticket Editing Fiasco
At the FlixBus station, reality hit us like a cold slap. If anywhere would check FlixBus tickets thoroughly, it would be Baltimore. Our plan to hitchhike into unknown frontiers seemed thwarted before it began.
But Icarus and BBW weren’t ready to surrender. They hatched a contingency plan: buy a legitimate ticket, then edit it to create convincing fakes.
The problem was immediately apparent - none of us knew how to edit PDFs on a phone. Worse, Icarus, who preferred to communicate through what the rest of us called “moonrunes,” had his keyboard set to swipe mode, making it impossible for BBW to actually use the device.
Meanwhile, Smirnoff was frantically researching the legal implications of ticket fraud, his face growing paler with each search result.
“Guys,” he said, his voice tight with stress, “this is a felony. I strongly advise against this course of action.”
But Smirnoff’s legal concerns were rendered moot by technological incompetence. The keyboard problem, combined with BBW’s phone deciding this was the perfect moment for a breakdown, made the task impossible.
In a fit of frustration that would benefit society, BBW deleted the swipe keyboard from Icarus’s phone entirely.
Icarus never managed to get it back.
With our last scheme in ruins, we accepted our doomed fate: we were stuck in Baltimore for the day.
Chapter 7: The Saddest Casino in America
Desperate for shelter and entertainment, we wandered into what can only be described as the most depressing casino in America. Normally, casinos maintain the illusion of possibility - people winning, cheering, the electric buzz of potential fortune. This place had achieved something remarkable: it had successfully eliminated hope from the premises.
We asked a security guard to take our photo, perhaps wanting to commemorate our descent into hell. He refused outright, as if even being associated with our image would somehow diminish him further.
BBW, who had been constantly joking about gamblers quitting before hitting it big, finally gave up. The desperation was so thick in the air that even he couldn’t find humor in it anymore.
The people at that casino weren’t gambling - they were conducting funeral rites for their own dreams.
Chapter 8: The Grubhub Gambit
We retreated to the Greyhound station to regroup as the temperature began to drop. Hunger gnawed at us, and we needed a way to scam food. Icarus had a plan: Grubhub fraud.
We ordered expensive, luxury pho from a highly-rated restaurant, requesting delivery to the Greyhound station. When the delivery driver arrived, he took what could generously be called a “photograph” - a completely black image where nothing was visible.
Icarus spent the next hour in high-stress negotiations with customer service, claiming the food was never received. His performance was masterful - part method actor, part con artist, all desperation. The expensive refund was approved.
Hoping to avoid the delivery driver returning in a rage, we quickly left the Greyhound station to examine our prize.
That’s when we made a devastating discovery: we had ordered build-your-own pho. All the components were in separate containers, requiring assembly.
And we were homeless, outside, with no tables, no place to sit, trying to assemble pho as freezing rain began to fall.
Chapter 9: The Pho Assembly Disaster
Picture this: four college students, looking increasingly homeless, attempting to construct soup outside a hotel as freezing rain pelts down from the heavens. We spilled large amounts of the precious pho, saved only by the fact that we’d received a refund for our “never delivered” meal.
Our soup assembly workshop was noticed by locals, who politely but firmly told us to leave the hotel area and find a new construction site.
We relocated to a convenience store, bought forks and spoons, and ate the assembled pho outside in what can only be described as disaster conditions, eventually stuffing the remainder back in the bag.
Somehow, in the convenience store, looking completely homeless, a woman approached one of our crew. His reaction was one of complete confusion, showcasing his amazing skill to fumble even when opportunity literally walked up to him.
Chapter 10: The Garbage Bag Transformation
Problems multiplied as the rain grew colder and more persistent. The Trader Joe’s bags, despite their reputation for durability, proved to be about as waterproof as a paper towel.
Slowly, methodically, we transferred our belongings to garbage bags, our transformation into full homeless cosplay becoming complete. This was when we realized that Icarus and Objector, despite everyone knowing it would rain, had failed to pack umbrellas.
But Icarus remained confident.
“My jacket is 100% waterproof,” he declared with the certainty of someone who had never actually tested this claim.
This was the first of what we would later call the “Joker moments” - instances where reality became so absurd that sanity could only respond with laughter.
Chapter 11: The Housing Crisis
Our original housing plan involved sneaking into a dorm, but given our current appearance - four figures draped in garbage bags, looking like the most unsuccessful bank robbers in history - this became not only impossible but potentially criminal. Baltimore, if anywhere, would have security.
We began a desperate race against time to catch the last train out of the city, somewhere we could pitch our tent and survive the night. We failed repeatedly, missing train after train, wandering for hours, failing at the light rail system, running and missing multiple buses like characters in a slapstick comedy written by someone with a cruel sense of humor.
Finally, we spotted the very last bus of the night - one heading to Lake Rowland Park, where we could set up camp and survive until morning.
We approached the bus stop, garbage bags rustling in the wind like the wings of defeated ravens. The bus driver took one look at us and shut the door. Our homeless appearance had manifested an internal gate that previously didn’t exist in her mind. She couldn’t believe we could afford the $2 fare.
To be fair, we hadn’t originally planned to pay it.
Chapter 12: The Lake Rowland Park Revelation
As the bus finally carried us toward salvation, BBW began laughing - one of those deep, uncontrolled laughs that signal the complete breakdown of sanity. This was his Joker moment.
We realized, in a flash of profound failure, that Lake Rowland Park wasn’t actually a park at all - it was a suburb. We should have known this, living in College Park ourselves, but desperation had clouded our judgment.
We found another wooded area near Johns Hopkins, an actual park near the end of the bus line - the final bus of the night, with no other options remaining.
Chapter 13: The Homeless Community Discovery
We arrived at the park and found something that defied our expectations: we weren’t the only ones who’d had this idea.
Before us lay a community - dozens of tents forming a whole town of homeless encampments, each one significantly higher quality than Smirnoff’s bargain-basement camping equipment.
Smirnoff broke down laughing, finally understanding that even in homelessness, we were amateurs. Supply and demand had foiled us again.
The group debated joining the homeless community, recognizing that these people knew what they were doing far better than we did. But ultimately, we decided not to take the risk.
Chapter 14: The Ravine of Desperation
The rain was becoming dangerous. We were barely nimble, our clothes saturated, and we knew we had to find shelter or risk our actual safety.
Everyone’s clothing was as wet as it could possibly be - except, of course, for Icarus’s absolutely guaranteed 100% waterproof jacket.
We went down the side of a highway, into a ravine, finding a place so unseemly and uninviting that surely no one else would think to occupy it.
The mud was wet and slippery on the hillside, masterfully navigated by a sober Smirnoff as he waited for everyone else to slowly climb down like a mountain guide leading the world’s most incompetent expedition.
Chapter 15: The Engineering Marvel
In our ravine, we achieved something approaching competence. We engineered an amazing cover for our bags using an emergency blanket, creating what looked like a space-age tarp system.
Then came the tent setup. None of us had ever assembled a tent before, and we approached it like archaeologists trying to reconstruct an ancient civilization from fragments.
We set up what was essentially a teepee, having no idea how the rods were supposed to work. Finally, through experimentation born of desperation, we realized the rods bent all the way around. With fingers so cold we had lost most of our dexterity, we managed to make something that technically qualified as a tent.
All four of us piled into a shelter designed for two, huddling for warmth as we tried to recover from cold so severe it had become a legitimate health hazard.
Chapter 16: The Waterproof Jacket Investigation
It was at this point that we investigated Icarus’s claim about his jacket being waterproof.
He was soaking wet, wearing only a t-shirt underneath.
It was worse than we thought - ignoring his quartermaster’s suggestions, he hadn’t even put on his winter clothes. All the spare clothing in his bag was soaking wet and completely unusable.
We huddled for warmth as Icarus barely survived the cold. We didn’t even attempt to drink the alcohol we’d brought - even Agent Smirnoff wasn’t in the mood, just wanting to sleep and survive until morning.
Smirnoff gave Icarus an emergency blanket, a gesture that probably saved his life.
Everyone in the tent moved with military efficiency when someone needed to pee, opening and closing the tent as fast as possible because the cold was so intense it felt like a physical attack.
Chapter 17: The Laptop Discovery
In the tent, we made another discovery that perfectly encapsulated our trip’s logic: Objector had brought his laptop, which was now soaking wet.
“Why did you bring a laptop?” we asked.
“I thought I’d be able to get some work done during the trip,” he replied, apparently having envisioned this adventure as some sort of working vacation.
Chapter 18: The Hypothermia Negotiations
Freezing in our tent, we wanted nothing more than to end this trip after surviving the night and resolving the curse once and for all.
Only Icarus wanted to continue.
“I’m down for Philly,” he said with chattering teeth. “I’m still down for Philly.”
But as the cold took him, he ceased to respond coherently. Shivering, suffering symptoms of hypothermia, he became unresponsive as the others argued to cancel the Amtrak tickets we’d planned for the next day.
It was only after Icarus became unable to argue anymore that we finally made the decision to abort the mission.
Chapter 19: The Recovery
We suffered through the night, awake, cold, and miserable, taking turns warming each other and preventing anyone from falling into dangerous unconsciousness.
In the morning, we took the bus to the train station and slept in the Amtrak waiting area for hours, slowly recovering from what had genuinely been mild hypothermia.
After security eventually told us to move along, we decided it was time to surrender. We took an Uber home, the ride feeling like a journey from hell back to the land of the living.
Epilogue: The Warm Beds of Salvation
We returned to our beds and passed out immediately, happier to be warm than we had ever been in our lives.
For weeks afterward, we would wake up in fear, thinking we were still in that tent. The moment of realization - that we were actually in our warm, dry beds - brought joy more profound than any luxury vacation ever could.
The catalog’s curse was finally broken, but at what cost? We had achieved our goal of traveling without spending money (mostly), but we had learned that some prices can’t be measured in dollars.
Sometimes the most expensive trips are the ones that cost nothing at all.
And thus ended the final mission of the catalog - not with triumph, but with the hard-won wisdom that there are some scams that scam the scammer most of all.