The Alien Entrepreneur

Prompt: An alien has just abducted you. Give three reasons why it would send you back to earth.

"Awe, look at those tentacles. And your eyes—they are as big around as cantaloupes," I say to the creature that just sucked me up into his forcefield. I can't be mad because he's so darn cute. He doesn't speak my language, but he seems to know what I'm thinking. He cocks his head to one side and furrows his brow as he looks right at me or through me; who knows.

I wonder what he wants with me. Out of all the people, why little 'ole me? I look around the spaceship to see other humans sitting in the most compliant way, up against the ship's walls. They're looking down at the floor, probably because that's what they were told to do. They are all dressed in earth tones—ironic, huh? They sit patiently, but I can tell they're listening, even if they aren't supposed to.

"Excuse me, alien, sir. Why am I here?" I ask. Still curious, not yet angry. He cocks his head to the other side and smiles. I start to feel uncomfortable; something's not right. Yeah, I know I'm in a spaceship with an alien, but aside from that, something is off. I'm the only human speaking to this little guy, I'm the only one standing up, and I'm the only one questioning the fact that I'm here. Maybe the others did, too, at one point. Perhaps he did something to them to make them so docile. The questions begin to run wild in my mind, and before I know it, they're spewing out. I rapid-fire him with whys, whens, how comes. 

He doesn't like it.

I can see the agitation emerge on his face. His eyes turn slightly red, and his alien veins protrude. He doesn't like resistance. He doesn't like the questions. Or maybe he just doesn't like all the talking. I scan the room to assess my options for escape. I see a large door in front of me, but there's no lever and no button. It looks like I'm stuck; there are no windows, portholes, or vents. I mean, seriously. I'm in outer space, so even if I did get out, where would I go?

It was at that moment I caught a glimpse of a small desk tucked away, barely visible. I see a pen, some Post-it Notes, and a magazine. The Alien Entrepreneur, it read. I think that's what it said. What on earth is an alien entrepreneur? I didn't know aliens owned businesses. What do they sell, anyway? Humans? Oh. My. Goodness. They sell humans! They sell, they're going to sell, he's planning to sell—ME! I was on the alien black market!

Talk about reverting back to instinct. My primal brain kicks in and pulls from all the skills I have learned over the years—everything from negotiation, sales tactics, counseling talk, imposing the southern charm, and of course, my entrepreneurial skills. I've been a business coach for several years, so I understand this entrepreneurial alien guy, at least on some basic levels.

"Hey Mr. Alien, man, it looks like you got a good operation going," I say to him. I have to build him up. After all, he is a male alien, and they like that sort of thing. 

"I notice all of your victims, I mean humans, all seem to look the same. There's not much diversity and probably not much of a variety for your customers to pick from. Right?"

He's listening. I can tell. Even though he has no ears, his eyes focus on me. I'm on to something.

"Sounds to me like your business's success is based on the products you have to offer your customers. If the customers don't buy, you're left with unusable inventory. That increases your overhead. The longer it sits on the shelves, the harder it is to sell. But you already know that." 

He doesn't, but again, I'm trying to make him feel good. I'm trying to get off this friggin' ship.

Relentless, I added, "Mr. Alien, you have an unmet need in your business' foundational level of sales. This need is called Prospect Attraction. You're having a hard time attracting new leads to your business, aren't you?" His eyes move up to meet mine. 

I'm right. I know the problem he's facing, and now I know how to escape.

"That's why you took me, isn't it? You took me because I was different. I'm not like those other folks, and you wanted to see if this slight change in your lead magnet would attract more attention from your customers, right?" I sure hope I'm right. If not, the offense I'd undoubtedly cause wouldn't be in my best interests.

His hand slowly moves toward mine. He clasps his four finger-like extensions of skin around mine and moves toward the desk where the magazine lays. He pulls out a stack of papers and envelopes—late notices, delinquency actions, and threats to repossess his spaceship. He's about to lose his business, I realize. 

On the corner of the desk is a picture of a family — his family. A female alien tightly grips his hand in hers. In front of them stands two tiny aliens. Their skin is slightly lighter, but their eyes are curious and kind, and they look at their parents with love and wonder. They look happy. I see the pain in the alien entrepreneur's cantaloupe eyes and instantly feel empathy for him. After all, I felt the exact same way once.

I motion for him to sit down in the chair and pull up another from the other side of the room. I spend the next hour walking him through the three foundational levels of a business: SALES, PROFIT, and ORDER. I show him how to diagnose his business and point out the real problem. I explain how an unmet need in Prospect Attraction affects a whole slew of other things. I point out more problems he is having before he can tell me about them. I know because business is predictable. People are predictable, and apparently, aliens are predictable too.

In that hour, I help him not only understand his business better, but I help him with a necessary pivot. We create a strategy for changing up the lead magnet to something different but sustainable—novel and helpful. And for the love of God, definitely not human. As it turns out, Aliens enjoy eating humans, but they enjoy eating chocolate way more. By providing his customers with something that would actually solve their biggest problem, the alien entrepreneur could solve the biggest problem in his business too.

His eyes well up with grateful tears, and his hands grip mine tightly, wordlessly. I feel the abrupt shift beneath my feet as the spaceship grinds to a halt before quickly reversing course and beelining back to earth.

Seeing our blue dot grow as we travel closer to earth through the blackness of space brings me so much joy—even more than that, it brings an energy that I haven't felt in a while. I'm calling my office manager to tell her to buy a warehouse with an immaculate cooling system along with equipment and packaging as soon as I step off this ship. 

Little does she know, we're about to be the first interplanetary chocolate wholesalers the world has ever seen. The alien entrepreneur turned client doesn't know yet that we're about to be business partners. His business has an unmet need that I can fix with a bit of sugar, cocoa, butter, and milk.

Backstory: The first week of April, I flew to New Jersey to attend the Next Level Author workshop, hosted by Mike Michalowicz and AJ Harper. I stumbled upon a bookstore in which I got lost for nearly an hour. Not literally lost, but I couldn't stop looking, imagining, and soaking it all in. A journal called 500 Writing Prompts captured my attention, and I bought it. Then I committed to using one random prompt per day to share with my readers. 

This story is inspired by my upcoming release of Fix This Next for Healthcare Providers. If you haven't already, check it out on Amazon. It's available for pre-order.