Chapter 3 3.Chapter 3: Enlightenment Now Comes in a Reusable Tote Bag

Chapter 3: Enlightenment Now Comes in a Reusable Tote Bag

By the next morning, things had escalated to alarming levels of organized enthusiasm.

Nate hadn't even opened his eyes when Trevor stormed into the living room holding a beige tote bag like it was the Holy Grail.

"They made merch, bro!"

Nate, still horizontal, face mashed into a couch cushion, grunted. "That better be filled with croissants."

"No, man-look!" Trevor flipped the tote bag around with dramatic flair. In bold purple letters, it read:

"WWNFD? (What Would Nate Flanders Do?)"

Wake up. Be the job. Hug a stranger. Repeat.

Beneath the quote was an image of Nate's face-specifically the frame where he was mid-sneeze and yelling something about spiritual tacos.

"Why am I sneezing?" Nate mumbled, still not fully conscious.

"That's the logo, dude. People think it's symbolic. Like, the sneeze represents rejecting negative energy."

"It represents allergies," Nate groaned, sitting up.

"And get this-someone started a donation page to fund a 'Flanderian Healing Center and Smoothie Temple.'"

"That sounds fake."

Trevor held up his phone. "They've already raised six hundred bucks."

"...That sounds criminal."

Outside, the sidewalk had been overtaken. Folding chairs, tents, and incense sticks as long as baseball bats lined the street like a very confused Renaissance fair. At least three people were meditating around a bowl of guacamole.

As Nate peeked through the blinds, someone spotted him and gasped, "He wakes!"

The crowd erupted in soft clapping.

Not loud applause. Respectful clapping. Like they were congratulating a tree for blooming on time.

Nate backed away slowly. "I can't even pick my own toothpaste brand. I'm not fit to lead these people!"

Trevor patted him on the back. "You didn't choose leadership. Leadership chose you."

"You sound like a fridge magnet."

Trevor beamed. "Thank you."

Later That Day – The Podcast Trap

Lana Valdez's podcast studio was above a donut shop and smelled like ambition, fried sugar, and disappointment.

Nate shifted uncomfortably in his seat across from her, surrounded by ring lights and audio gear that looked way too expensive for a podcast with 2.3 stars on Spotify.

She slid a mic in front of him like she was sliding a confession booth window open. "Today, I want to talk about your origin story."

"You mean when I fell over in a wizard robe and someone misquoted me?"

"Yes." She clicked record. "Let's begin."

🎙️ Podcast Recording: "UNFILTERED: With Lana Valdez" – Episode 108

Title: "The Accidental Prophet: Flanderism and the Cult of Confidence"

Lana: "Joining me today is Nate Flanders. Barista-turned-internet-icon. Welcome to the show."

Nate: "Thanks. It's great to be here. I think. There's a smell in this room that reminds me of childhood trauma, but otherwise-good vibes."

Lana: "You've said some outrageous things. 'Be the hustle.' 'Jobs are a scam invented by jealous ghosts.' What do you say to people who claim your teachings are nonsense?"

Nate: "I say... they're absolutely right. My most insightful quote last week was, 'Drink more water or become dust.' I don't know how I got here. I was just hungry and yelling."

Lana: "So it's all a joke?"

Nate: "It was. Then people showed up with stickers and matching robes. I don't know how to undo it without causing a panic."

Lana: "So what's the plan? Keep leading? Or expose the absurdity from the inside?"

Nate: "Honestly? I was hoping you'd tell me."

After the recording, Lana sat back and studied him. "You know, you're accidentally onto something. People don't want truth. They want certainty. And you give them that. Even if it's dressed in cosmic nonsense and old pizza slogans."

Nate sighed. "It was supposed to be a joke."

"All the best movements start that way."

That Evening – The Assembly of Mildly Confused Believers

Nate stood at the top of the apartment stairs, staring down at a crowd of nearly 200 people who had gathered with candles, glow sticks, and at least one harmonica.

A man named Kevin the Interpretive Dancer was doing what could only be described as an emotional backflip to the sound of ambient whale noises. Someone else was handing out pamphlets titled "Flanderist Principles and Daily Snack Guidance."

Trevor handed Nate a microphone. "They're waiting."

"For what?"

"For guidance."

"I have none."

Trevor shrugged. "Then make it up. You're good at that."

Nate stepped forward. The crowd hushed.

He swallowed hard, raised the mic, and said:

"Greetings. Uh... fellow vibers. Enlightened beings. Folks."

The crowd erupted into cheers.

"Thank you... for being here. For believing in something, even if that something was me slipping on a mat in a dog robe. That shows dedication. Or confusion. Either way-respect."

A woman near the front wept into a reusable Kleenex.

"I don't know where we're going. But I do know one thing: You don't have to have it all figured out to be moving forward. You just need snacks, water, and maybe a backup pair of socks."

Thunderous applause.

"Also-stop tattooing my face on your thighs. Please. That's a lifetime decision."

The crowd dispersed hours later, still humming with joy. People hugged, traded smoothie recipes, and shouted phrases like "May the grind guide you!" into the night air.

Nate collapsed onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. "This is spiraling."

Trevor appeared behind him. "You're a movement now, bro. You might want to pick a doctrine."

"I don't even know how to spell 'doctrine.'"

"You could make it up."

Nate groaned. "...Yeah. Yeah, I probably could."

END OF CHAPTER 3