Ensermo and the Case of the Vanishing Wi-Fi
In a quiet town where everyone knew everyone, there was Ensermo—a bald man with a gleaming head that seemed to reflect the sunlight like a polished mirror. He wasn’t just bald, though. Ensermo had a smile so infectious that people couldn’t help but grin when they saw him, even on their worst days. Known for his charming wit and uncanny ability to solve problems, he was the town's go-to guy for everything from fixing leaky faucets to debugging Wi-Fi routers.
One crisp Saturday morning, Mrs. Pumpernickel, who ran the local bakery, burst into Ensermo’s workshop in a state of utter panic. “Ensermo, my Wi-Fi has vanished! VANISHED! The online orders are piling up, and I can't even check the weather! How will I know if it's good pie-baking weather?”
Ensermo looked up from the contraption he was tinkering with—a bizarre mix of gears and wires he swore was going to "revolutionize the art of coffee brewing." He gave Mrs. Pumpernickel his signature smile and said, “Vanished Wi-Fi? Sounds serious. Don’t worry, Mrs. P. I’ll have you back online before your next batch of croissants.”
He grabbed his trusty backpack, filled with every gadget imaginable, and followed Mrs. Pumpernickel back to the bakery. The place was filled with the warm, buttery aroma of fresh pastries, but the mood was anything but sweet. Ensermo pulled out his laptop, a device so covered in stickers it looked like it belonged to a teenage hacker, and began to scan the network.
“Hmm,” he murmured, scratching his bald head, which only made it shinier. “Your router seems fine, but the signal is…gone. It’s as if someone or something is interfering.”
Mrs. Pumpernickel gasped. “Do you think it’s the squirrels? They’ve been extra cheeky lately.”
Ensermo shook his head. “No, squirrels are more into gnawing wires, not disrupting frequencies. This feels… intentional.”
Just as he said that, a faint, robotic hum filled the air. Ensermo froze, his eyes narrowing. He whipped out a tiny handheld device with a glowing screen and began waving it around like a magic wand. “There’s a strange signal nearby. It’s hijacking your Wi-Fi!”
He traced the signal to the basement of the bakery, a dark, musty space filled with old sacks of flour and a suspiciously large wooden crate labeled “Do Not Open.”
Mrs. Pumpernickel wrung her hands. “That crate’s been here since before I bought the bakery. I always thought it was just full of old baking pans.”
Ensermo’s smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Only one way to find out.” He grabbed a crowbar from his bag—because of course, Ensermo always carried a crowbar—and pried the crate open. Inside was a sleek, futuristic device humming with energy. It had glowing blue lines and buttons that looked far too advanced for a small-town bakery.
“Ah,” Ensermo said, stroking his chin dramatically. “Classic case of rogue alien technology. Happens all the time.”
Mrs. Pumpernickel blinked. “Rogue WHAT?”
Before Ensermo could explain, the device emitted a loud beep, and a holographic projection of a small alien appeared. The alien, who looked like a cross between a jellyfish and a toaster, waved one of its tentacles and said, “Greetings, Earthlings! Apologies for the Wi-Fi disruption. I am Zog, and I require your network to upload my vacation photos to the Galactic Cloud.”
Mrs. Pumpernickel fainted, landing in a pile of flour with a soft poof. Ensermo, however, didn’t miss a beat. “Zog, buddy, you can’t just hijack people’s Wi-Fi. It’s rude. Let me help you. I can set up a hotspot for you that won’t interfere with Mrs. Pumpernickel’s business.”
The alien blinked its jelly-like eyes. “You would do that… for me? Why?”
Ensermo shrugged, his humility shining brighter than his bald head. “Because everyone deserves a little help now and then. Plus, I’d hate for your vacation photos to go unseen.”
As Ensermo worked his magic, setting up a separate network for Zog, Mrs. Pumpernickel came to, covered in flour but still wide-eyed. “Ensermo… are you really helping an alien with their Wi-Fi?”
He flashed his grin. “Of course. It’s all in a day’s work.”
Just as he finished, the alien device let out a cheerful ding. Zog waved a tentacle in gratitude. “Thank you, kind human! I shall remember your generosity. If you ever need assistance, just press this.” It handed him a glowing, button-like device before disappearing into the ether.
Mrs. Pumpernickel stared at the now-empty crate. “Ensermo, what on Earth just happened?”
He packed up his gear, that ever-charming smile still in place. “Just a little technical troubleshooting, Mrs. P. Your Wi-Fi should be working now.”
As they went back upstairs, the smell of baking pies filled the air. Mrs. Pumpernickel sighed in relief as her online orders started pinging through. “You’re amazing, Ensermo. Truly.”
He gave her a playful wink. “Just a humble guy doing his best.”
But as he walked out of the bakery, he couldn’t help but wonder: What exactly had Zog meant by “If you ever need assistance”? And what did the glowing button in his pocket really do?
The story ends here… but is it the end? Or just the beginning of Ensermo’s next adventure?