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Arthur tried to go back to the Golden Palms that summer. He found his "Luxury Suite" was actually a studio overlooking a dumpster, and the "private beach" was a narrow strip of sand behind a highway.

He was met at the door by Gary, a man whose teeth were whiter than the fluorescent lights of the lobby. "Arthur! Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life!" Gary chirped, steering him toward a cramped office that smelled faintly of old coffee and desperation.

The "tour" was a brisk three-minute walk past a pool that was currently being drained and a "fitness center" consisting of a single, squeaky exercise bike. Then came the presentation. For four hours, Gary showed Arthur slides of sunsets and happy families, his voice rising in pitch every time Arthur mentioned the word "budget." cheap timeshare

When he tried to sell it, he discovered a hundred other "owners" were trying to give theirs away for a single dollar just to escape the fees. Nobody was buying. He realized then that he hadn't bought a vacation; he’d bought a bill that would outlive him.

Arthur wasn't a man of leisure; he was a man of the bottom line. So, when a glossy flyer promised a "Luxury Coastal Retreat for the price of a dinner at Sizzler," he didn't see a red flag—he saw a loophole. Arthur tried to go back to the Golden Palms that summer

Arthur, blinded by the prospect of a $99-a-year getaway, signed the stack of papers. He left with a plastic keychain and a sense of triumph.

"Oh, the purchase was cheap, Mr. Miller," the voice replied cheerfully. "But the property taxes, the roofing fund, the pool-cleaning surcharge, and the 'Atmosphere Enhancement Fee' are mandatory. It’s all in Section 14, Paragraph C. The part written in light grey ink." "Arthur

The triumph lasted exactly six months, until the first "Maintenance Assessment" arrived in the mail. It was $1,200.