Aliens Stole My Wi-Fi Password

It all started on a Tuesday night, one of those perfectly ordinary evenings where nothing interesting ever happens. The kind of night where your biggest decision is whether to finish the bag of chips or save some for tomorrow. Spoiler: I never save the chips.

I was on my couch, binge-watching the latest crime docuseries, absorbed in the tale of a guy who stole millions from his company and hid the cash in hollowed-out lawn gnomes. The Wi-Fi had been acting up all evening, causing more buffering than I cared to deal with, but I figured it was just the router giving up on life again. It always seemed to pick the most dramatic moments to glitch out.

But then something strange happened. The buffering stopped, and the screen went black. Not the kind of “restart your app” black. No, this was the ominous, something’s definitely wrong black.

"Not now," I groaned, tapping furiously on the remote.

Then I noticed a green glow seeping in through the curtains. My first thought? “Please let it be a food truck.” My second thought? “Or aliens. Aliens would be cool, too.”

I peeked outside, and there it was: a spaceship. A real, honest-to-goodness flying saucer, glowing like a radioactive disco ball. My backyard, which until that moment had been a peaceful patch of grass and an old patio table, was now a landing pad for extraterrestrials.

A ramp extended from the spaceship with an almost theatrical hiss, and three small figures waddled out. They were about four feet tall, with bulbous heads, huge sparkling eyes, and silver jumpsuits that would’ve been at home in a ‘90s boy band.

"Um, hello?" I called out, unsure of how one greets aliens.

The first one looked at me, then pointed at my house, then back at me. Its hand made a typing motion, like it was texting on an invisible phone.

"Typing? What, do you want—" Then it hit me. "Wait. Do you want my Wi-Fi password?"

The alien nodded enthusiastically, its big eyes glowing brighter as it pointed at my router through the window.

I blinked at them. "You came all the way to Earth… for Wi-Fi?"

Another nod.

I should’ve closed the curtains, locked the doors, and called someone—anyone—but instead, I found myself unlocking the door. Curiosity, stupidity, or both, I’m not sure, but I was about to find out what happens when you give aliens your Wi-Fi password.

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing a sticky note. “It’s ‘ILoveCats123.’ Don’t judge me.”

One of the aliens held up a strange device and began typing furiously. A second later, the Wi-Fi signal surged so strongly my tablet dinged from the living room. The alien trio clapped, and without waiting for an invitation, marched inside.

They made themselves at home immediately. Two plopped onto my couch, grabbing the remote, while the third raided my fridge. Moments later, they were watching The Great British Bake Off and munching on a bag of tortilla chips they’d somehow opened with a laser pointer.

“You’re joking, right?” I said, watching them settle into my cushions like they owned the place.

One of them shushed me.

For the next two hours, I watched in stunned silence as the aliens binge-watched Earth TV. Every now and then, they’d point at the screen and babble excitedly in their strange language. They were particularly impressed with Stranger Things, especially the Upside Down scenes.

By midnight, I was exhausted. I wanted to yell at them, kick them out, or at least reclaim the remote, but what was I supposed to do? They had a spaceship, and I had an overdue water bill. The balance of power was not in my favor.

Eventually, I shuffled off to bed, leaving them to enjoy their cosmic Netflix marathon.

The next morning, I stumbled into the living room to find my couch looking like a tornado had hit it. Empty snack bags were everywhere, and the aliens were still glued to the screen, now halfway through The Office.

“Do you even sleep?” I grumbled.

One of them turned and held up a hand, as if to say, Wait. This is the part where Jim pranks Dwight.

I couldn’t believe it. These weren’t explorers, invaders, or scientists. They were intergalactic freeloaders.

By lunchtime, I’d had enough. “Okay, guys, you’ve watched enough TV. Time to go back to your… wherever.”

The leader—at least, I assumed it was the leader—looked at me with a sheepish expression. It babbled something in its alien tongue, then pointed at the TV and made a pleading gesture.

“No way,” I said. “You’ve got every streaming service known to man. How much more could you possibly want?”

The alien hesitated, then held up its gadget again. With a few taps, the screen on my TV transformed into what looked like alien Netflix. Rows of titles with weird, squiggly symbols filled the screen. The thumbnails showed everything from alien sitcoms to a game show hosted by what appeared to be a sentient cloud of gas.

“You’re offering me your streaming service?” I asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

The alien nodded.

I stared at the screen, curiosity getting the better of me. “Fine. But if this is some kind of alien spyware, I’m holding you responsible.”

The aliens cheered, and within minutes, I was watching an alien soap opera that made Earth dramas look tame. One episode involved a love triangle, a talking plant, and a spaceship chase through a black hole. It was ridiculous—and I loved it.

Over the next few days, the aliens and I reached an unspoken agreement. They got free Wi-Fi and access to Earth’s streaming platforms, and I got to explore their vast library of intergalactic entertainment.

By the end of the week, my backyard was a full-blown alien hangout. More spaceships started showing up, each one carrying aliens eager to binge-watch Earth’s shows. My neighbors were too busy complaining about their slow internet to notice the extraterrestrial invasion happening right next door.

At one point, I asked the leader why they were so obsessed with our TV. He explained—well, mimed—that their home planet didn’t have any decent streaming services. The closest thing they had was a network that aired educational documentaries about alien fungi.

“So, you came all the way to Earth… for entertainment?” I asked.

The alien nodded, looking almost embarrassed.

“Couldn’t you, I don’t know, invent your own Netflix?”

The alien shrugged.

By the end of the month, my house had become a galactic hotspot. I had aliens lining up outside, spaceships hovering over the lawn, and a snack budget that could bankrupt a small country. But for all the chaos, I had to admit… I was having fun.

The aliens weren’t so different from us. Sure, they had spaceships and ray guns, but at the end of the day, they just wanted to relax, eat snacks, and watch TV.

And as weird as it sounds, I kind of liked being their unofficial host.

Eventually, though, I had to lay down some ground rules. I couldn’t keep hosting movie nights for the entire galaxy without some compensation. So, we struck a deal: they’d upgrade my Wi-Fi to alien-level speeds and give me free access to their streaming platform. In return, they got unlimited access to Earth’s entertainment.

It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but hey, it worked.

Now, whenever my friends complain about their slow internet, I just smile and log into my alien Netflix account.

After all, some connections are truly out of this world.