UFO makes first contact. Parking warden asks it to move.
Humanity’s biggest discovery has been temporarily relocated because it was blocking the trolley return.
This is an invented story. Events, characters and quotations are fictional. The illustration is AI-generated. Please do not call the supermarket.
One small step. Three parking spaces.
First contact began at 8:43 on a Tuesday that had otherwise shown very little ambition. A silver disc descended through the clouds, scattered a flock of pigeons, and came to rest across three trolley bays outside the fictional supermarket Good Enough. Witnesses reported a low electrical hum, a smell like warm stationery, and the immediate appearance of a man saying he had always known this would happen.
The vessel’s door unfolded into a staircase. Its staircase unfolded into a smaller, more apologetic staircase. A three-eyed visitor stepped out holding a crystalline object capable of translating every language in the known universe. The first sentence it received was: “You can’t leave that there, mate.”
Parking warden Bev had not been trained for an extraterrestrial landing, but she had been trained for vehicles exceeding the marked bay. She considered the distinction academic. While the visitor offered a greeting on behalf of fourteen star systems, Bev photographed the rear of the craft and asked where its registration plate was.
The witnesses are being incredibly normal.
A shopper called Martin described the landing as “the most important event in human history, although I did lose my place in the checkout queue.” He recorded seventeen minutes of footage with his front-facing camera. Most of it shows Martin looking disappointed at a banana. He has asked that the footage not be cropped, because the banana provides scale.
The supermarket’s trolley supervisor, a pigeon named Clive in this entirely invented account, convened an emergency meeting. Six trolleys attended. One rolled away during introductions and was recorded as abstaining. Their central concern was whether a species capable of bending spacetime could return a trolley without leaving it halfway across the car park.
Online speculation accelerated before anyone had uploaded a usable photograph. One theory proposed a secret military aircraft. Another proposed a weather balloon with very strong opinions about bread. A third insisted it was a publicity stunt for a product the theorist could not name. All three accounts confidently cited one another as independent sources.
Take us to whoever authorizes refunds.
The visitor identified itself as an ambassador of the Interstellar Accord, then paused while its translator rendered “accord” as “slightly damp committee.” It carried a message of peace, a device that could end material scarcity, and a bag containing what it called ceremonial Earth money. The bag held twenty-seven buttons and a very good pebble.
Bev explained that neither the buttons nor the pebble could cover the parking charge. The ambassador asked whether the payment terminal accepted universal consciousness. Bev said it sometimes struggled with contactless. Negotiations were suspended while a delivery van attempted to reverse around the galaxy’s first diplomatic incident.
A proposal to establish a permanent embassy in the trolley shelter was rejected on practical grounds. The shelter already housed two abandoned umbrellas and a promotional display for soup. Humanity was willing to share the planet, the store manager said, but the soup campaign had another eleven days to run.
A breakthrough in something adjacent to science.
Our correspondent attempted to determine how the craft travelled faster than light. The ambassador explained that its engine did not move through space; instead, it persuaded space to be somewhere else. This explanation was accepted by everyone who had ever tried to find a specific screwdriver in a kitchen drawer.
Asked for a demonstration, the ambassador opened a portal to the biscuit aisle. The portal emerged in cleaning supplies. It apologized and blamed a recent firmware update. This was the first moment at which the gathered humans felt they had something meaningful in common with the visitors.
Bev took the opportunity to measure the spacecraft. Her tape measure had disappeared, so she used Martin’s banana. The resulting dimensions were entered into the official notebook as “quite a lot of banana.” The ambassador noted that this was surprisingly close to the measurement system used on its home world.
The universe is vast. The exit is over there.
By lunchtime, the parties had reached a historic compromise. The spacecraft would move to the far end of the car park. In return, humanity would receive a small demonstration of clean energy and permission to keep the good pebble. Bev would retain the right to issue a second ticket if the vessel blocked the recycling bins.
The ambassador delivered a final speech about the fragile beauty of life among the stars. Unfortunately, the supermarket announcement system cut in halfway through to request assistance with an unexpected item in the bagging area. The ambassador listened gravely and offered to send a specialist team.
The craft departed in a column of violet light. Its parking ticket remained suspended in the air for several seconds before fluttering into a trolley. Clive scheduled a follow-up meeting. Humanity resumed buying things it had not come in for. Somewhere beyond the orbit of Neptune, a navigation computer asked its captain to rate the parking experience.
Original fiction published by Shitpost Games. This is comedy, not reporting or game advice. For actual mechanics, read the game guides.
