It was just another ordinary day at Premier Estate Buyer Boca Raton—until a spaceship landed in the parking lot.

Greg, the store manager, rubbed his temples. "Not again."

The ship hissed as a ramp lowered, and out walked a creature covered in shimmering purple scales, wearing a tiny fedora.

“Greetings, human,” the alien said in a deep, regal voice. “I come from the planet Zogtron-7 with a business proposition.”

Greg crossed his arms. “Let me guess. You want to sell gold?”

The alien grinned, revealing too many teeth. "Indeed. Zogtron-7 has discovered an ancient vault filled with golden artifacts. But in our world, gold is used exclusively for... toilet seats."

Greg sighed. “Why is it always the weird ones?”

---

The Shady Deal

The alien snapped its fingers, and a holographic display appeared, showing mountains of gold bars, ornate jewelry, and… a golden statue of a cat wearing sunglasses.

“This,” the alien said, “is one metric Zog-load of gold. Worthless on my planet. But here, I hear you pay big money for it.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. "And what do you want in exchange?"

The alien leaned in. "Plastic forks."

Greg blinked. "What?"

"Plastic forks," the alien repeated. "They are the rarest material in the galaxy. We Zogtronians have tried to synthesize them for centuries, but… we always end up with spoons."

Greg tapped his chin. "So… you're telling me that in exchange for a spaceship full of gold, you just want me to go to Costco and buy, like… a hundred forks?"

"Precisely!" the alien beamed.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, okay. Deal."

---

A Galactic Economy Crisis

Moments later, Greg handed over two bags of plastic forks in exchange for the deed to a literal mountain of gold.

The alien cackled. "Pleasure doing business, human!" It then sprinted back into its ship, took off at light speed, and disappeared into the sky.

Greg stared at the pile of gold. "Huh."

Then, another portal opened, and two intergalactic police officers stepped through.

“Sir,” one of them said, adjusting their space helmet, “a dangerous Zogtronian con artist was just seen trading worthless garbage for valuable gold. Have you—"

Greg immediately kicked the two bags of plastic forks under the counter.

“Nope,” he said, smiling innocently.

The officers stared at him, then at the giant pile of gold now taking up most of the store.

"Right," one of them muttered. "Let's go check Walmart instead."

As soon as they left, Greg leaned back in his chair, smiling.

"Boca Raton Gold Buyer of the year? Yeah, that's me."