I Joined a Cult for Free WiFi

I Joined a Cult for Free WiFi

A Broke College Student’s Caffeinated Descent into Questionable Devotion

It started with a dead laptop battery, a drained bank account, and a desperate need to submit a sociology paper titled “Modern Isolation and Digital Dependency.” Ironically, I couldn’t submit it because I had no internet and was feeling very isolated.

My dorm’s WiFi had been down for three days, and the local coffee shops required a purchase—an actual one, not just a lingering look at the menu followed by pretending to find something in your backpack for 45 minutes. I was broke. I had one granola bar, seventeen cents, and the growing suspicion that I was going to fail every class and die in a pile of student loan debt.

So when I saw the flyer on the community board that read:

“FREE WiFi – Strong, Fast, No Password Needed. Coffee Included. Open Minds Welcome.”

Address: Harmony Grove – 12 minutes east of campus.

…I packed up my laptop, my hopes, and my last granola bar and walked.

Harmony Grove looked like a cross between a yoga retreat and a Pinterest fever dream. There were wind chimes, hammocks, barefoot people in flowing linen garments, and suspiciously cheerful music playing from hidden speakers. The air smelled like sandalwood and banana bread. The grass was… unnaturally lush.

And the WiFi? Immaculate.

The second I entered, my laptop pinged to life with full bars. My Google Docs opened faster than it ever had in my dorm. I almost cried.

“Welcome, seeker,” said a woman with silver hair, wearing what looked like a curtain tied with twine.

“Uh… hi,” I said. “I’m just here for the WiFi. And maybe the coffee?”

She smiled beatifically. “Of course. Knowledge flows best when the spirit is nourished. Would you like a lavender-maca cold brew or enlightenment?”

“…Just the coffee, thanks.”

The next few days were a blur of productivity. I returned to Harmony Grove every day. I finished my paper, responded to six weeks of ignored emails, updated my résumé, and applied for three internships. The WiFi never once lagged. The coffee was better than anything on campus. And the people? Unnervingly chill.

They called themselves “The Connected,” which I assumed was a cute little tech joke. They said things like “We don’t log on, we log in… to each other.” They wore name tags with titles like “Data Shepherd” and “Chief Vibration Curator.” One guy just went by “Buffer.”

It was all very cult-adjacent. But I was getting things done, so I ignored it.

Until the day they invited me to stay overnight.

“You’ve been such a productive presence,” said Moonbeam (formerly Sarah, I later learned), “we’d love to invite you to our overnight ritual of syncing.”

“Like a sleepover?” I asked.

“Exactly,” she said. “But with drums. And tea. And maybe a group cry.”

I hesitated. But my laptop was at 4%, and my phone charger was somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle of my dorm. Also, I hadn’t had to fake-buy a muffin in days. I agreed.

That night, I learned a few things.

The drums were real.

Loud. Rhythmic. Relentless. They called it “Connection Beats.” I called it “WiFi-Induced Seizures.”

The tea was... questionable.

It was a murky brew called “Clarity Tonic” made of mushroom, rosehip, and “moon essence.” I’m pretty sure moon essence was just tap water blessed by someone named Gary.

The group cry was extremely real.

We sat in a circle, shared our deepest fears, and wept together. I accidentally confessed to stealing a pepper shaker from Applebee’s in 2019. Everyone applauded my vulnerability.

By morning, I was wearing linen. Someone had braided my hair. I had adopted a new Grove name: “Upload.” (It was either that or “Bandwidth.”)

I wasn’t sure how this happened. But they told me I had “the glow of the newly connected,” and I couldn’t argue—I did feel oddly... chill. Possibly because the WiFi signal here could power a satellite.

I stayed for a week.

I called it “field research.” My professors called it “concerning.” My roommate called the cops.

The thing is, it was easy to stay. The coffee was endless. The WiFi had no downtime. They even had communal Netflix, with NO ADS. And if you ever felt stressed, you could scream into a rain barrel called the “Anxiety Bin.”

The only weird thing? They didn’t like it when people left.

One guy tried to go back to grad school. The next day, he returned looking dazed, mumbling about “too many passwords” and “bad vibes at Starbucks.”

Eventually, I escaped during a silent yoga session called “Downward Download.” I slipped out the side gate with my laptop and a thermos of Clarity Tonic.

Back on campus, things felt… off. The WiFi was slow. The coffee tasted like sadness. People wore jeans. Jeans!

Sometimes, late at night, I hear wind chimes in my dreams. I still wake up craving mushroom tea and group validation. And I definitely still use Harmony Grove’s WiFi—they never changed the password because there wasn’t one.

So yeah. I joined a cult for free WiFi.

And honestly? I’d do it again. But next time, I’m bringing a power bank, my own coffee beans, and an escape plan that doesn’t involve pretending to be a decorative gnome.

Because enlightenment is great—but bandwidth is forever