Vilken rolig historia hade människor i ett utbytesprogram med pterodactyl-liknande utomjordingar?

"Ted Reynolds" Testprov . Det finns en kopia tillgänglig på Internet Archive, som jag hittade genom att söka efter " rogerian ödla ". Du har tydligen ett bra minne för detaljer.

Mannen måste sova hängande uppåt från en stolpe som en fladdermus, för att sova på golvet är för bisarr för att utlänningarna ska förbise.

Paul hated sleeptime worse than anything, even meals. His head swam with dizziness, his biceps ached abominably, and his hip-joints felt on the verge of parting. He couldn’t even balance his weight with his hands, as the family were still in halfsleep; if they opened their eyes and saw him clutching the sleeping bar, it would hardly bode well for trade and diplomatic prospects.

He’d just have to hold out for another half-hour till the others had entered deepsleep; then he could clamber down from the perch and spread out on the rocky cave floor for a couple of hours. Just as long as he was back suspended from the sleeping bar by his knees when the family woke up.

Huvudpersonen var en människa som närmade sig slutet av sitt år med en familj av pterodactyl-liknande utomjordingar, där han spelade rollen som sin unga son. Även om utlänningar var noga med att behandla honom precis som sin son, så som att låtsas att inte märka kunde inte flyga, gick han in i problem med mobbningar.

"Beautiful day, a really gorgeous day,” he said at last, joining the family at their mornmeal. "Isn’t it your turn to flap over to Youoory for eggs, Wayuu?” He beamed affectionately at Paul.

A bit of underdone mork caught in Paul’s throat and he coughed helplessly. From where he sat, on the rim of the cliff, he could see the tops of the higher planted houses poking over the flametrees. A mere half mile as the bat flies, he thought. Two hours climbing for me, first down and then up. If I make it.

I’m not one of you, he thought desperately at the squatting family. I don’t have wings, I can’t fly, I hate breeir eggs. You know that, why do you pretend?

It was no use. They were letting Paul know that he was one of them, that they still accepted him. He should feel relieved and flattered. If they ever started coddling him, then he could really start to worry. It was just that all the members of the Mestoiwe family took their turns in shopping at Youoory village, and now it was his turn. As simple as that.

"Sure, Pamma,” he squeaked as expected, his fingers racing over the voder keys. "Oh, boy. Can I stay to see a flooel show?” He couldn’t abide the local entertainment, but the original Wayuueo, who loved flooel animations, would certainly have asked. Besides, it would give an easily accepted excuse for the extended time he would have to be gone from the family homestead.

Han känner en sympati för sin utomjordiska motsvarighet på jorden, som förmodligen måste smyga ur sängen på natten och hänga upp och ner i garderoben för att få vila.

Paul wondered if Wayuueo had to sleep in the same bed with Marilyn. After Paul’s wife was asleep, Wayuueo probably crept out of bed and hung upside down from the coat-rack. Paul felt an abrupt surge of sympathy for his distant counterpart.

Vid en tidpunkt sprang han i en ödla som kunde prata, papegoja-stil, men var inte särskilt ljus. Han ventilerade sina problem med det, och det svarade snarare som ett Eliza-program genom att vrida manens retoriska frågor tillbaka på honom, och det kallades en "rogerian ödla" efter Carl Rogers "person-centrerad" terapi. Ödlan blev så inblandad i att prata med honom, det märkte inte att en rovdjur krypte sig bakom och blev uppslukad.

The fallen log was thick enough, but slippery with oozing sap, and Paul had to inch his way across it sitting down. Half way across it, he came upon a rogerian. The lizard lay lethargically half out of the water, its long tail streaming in the rapid current. Its tongue flicked meditatively as Paul approached.

"Care to tell me about your problem?” said the rogerian.

"I doubt you’d be any help,” said Paul.

"Oh, you doubt I’d be any help?” said the rogerian. "Why is that?”

"Because,” answered Paul caustically, "you have about as much intelligence as a tree toad, and you don’t understand a word you are saying.” He had reached the point where the lizard squatted, and remained straddling the log, waiting for the creature to move.

The rogerian lizard blinked sleepy eyes and regarded Paul stead- ily. "Is it because I have about as much intelligence as a tree toad, or because I do not understand a word I am saying, that you doubt I would be of any help?” it asked.

....

"You’re damn right I don’t. But I also don’t want to end up like that Ruwandan who clinched the relation with the Humdingers by serving out his whole term to perfection . . . and then died right after of acute radiation poisoning. He’s a human hero now, but he’s just as dead ... a martyr to human desire for Humding microfabrics and the electromagnetic dramas of Cliklick! All I want is to get out of here — ” Paul broke off suddenly, drew his legs high out of the water, and said, "I think you should consider your own problem first. There’s a mangleworm working his way upstream behind you.”

"We were discussing you, not me. What does the mangleworm working his way upstream behind me suggest about your prob ”

Paul sighed and continued along the fallen trunk, carefully keeping his legs well out of the water until he was past the point where small fragments of rogerian spun on the current. Less intelligent than a tree toad, he decided. Still, a pleasant break in an otherwise tedious day.

Noowiioy took a sidewise step, blocking Paul’s escape. "We saw you climbing,” he said nastily, his face scrooching up in gray crin- kles. "You want to know something? You’re not a Shecklite after all.” The other five laughed mockingly.

Paul froze in shock. No one was ever supposed to say that; it could be the sign of the end. The adolescents had been taunting from the beginning, even cruel, but none of them had stepped across that line before.

Noowiioy’s face wrinkled again, with the humor of what he was about to say. "You’re no Shecklite,” he said again. "You’re some kind of rockcrab.”

....

"Rockcrab care to groundplunge?” the other asked bluntly.

Oh, Lord. Scratch one human being.

"Why not?” bluffed Paul. "If it’s the only way to stop your asinine yappings.”

"Okay. Here and now. I’ve been waiting months for this. Off the ravine right here, and the last one to lift wing wins.”

....

Paul pointed down the cliff. "Why lift wing at all? We’ll jump together from right here and go all the way to the bottom. If either of us lifts wing before striking bottom, that’s being a rockcrab and a mudworm.”

Noowiioy looked confused. "That’s ridiculous. I’ll go within ten lengths of the ground before I pull out. Bet you can’t do that!”

Paul shook his head disgustedly. "Noowiioy, you’re a bully and a boaster, but you just don’t have it when it counts. I’m sick of all your ten lengths, five lengths, three, half a length. If you can’t face going all the way, then stop bragging about your so-called guts. Put up or shut up.”

Borgmästaren var en "sann tjänsteman" genom att väljarna beställde honom och behandlade honom föraktligt.

As on Earth, the elected officials of Sheckley called themselves 'public servants.’ Unlike Earth, they behaved as such.

Paul gulped again and managed to respond, in a combination of vocal and voder, "When I’m good and ready, you lump of obsequiousness.” This also was standard format.

Vid slutet upptäckte mannen att han fick en stor ära - han har blivit slumpmässigt vald för att representera utlänningar i utbyte med ännu en kultur. . . oops!

Eventually the mayor continued. "It is a very important matter, the lottery system,” he said bluntly. "It is at the base of the life of all of us here on Sheckley. Without the economies and arts and sciences we have gained from Galactic contacts, our lives would still be short and narrow and miserable as they were before we reached the stars and joined the lottery exchange system.” He looked steadily at Paul. "If it is at all possible, if there is any hope at all, we shall do all in our power to make and keep relationships with the other creatures in the Galaxy. Every Shecklite knows the importance of this.” He cleared his throat, looking deeply embarrassed.

Paul considered saving everybody further embarrassment by two steps and a jump into the ravine. But the Shecklites would just catch him on the way down. It was useless.

Slowly the Mayor stretched out his leathery wings. "I know you will do well for us, Wayuueo of the Mestoiwe,” he was saying huskily. "Tomorrow you will be taken by webship to the world of the Dreffitti. You have been chosen by lottery as Sheckley’s representative to those beings.”

As the whole delegation and then his family stroked and hugged and ogled him, Paul could hear the mayor’s voice ricocheting on: ". . . live in chlorine bubbles under the waters of the muddy estu- aries . . . gourmet delicacies and temperature control techniques of huge value to our world . . . far the greatest honor that can befall a Shecklite.”

And, oh, were his Poms and Mops proud of him!

A little later, during the formal speeches, Paul did step off into the ravine, but they caught him before he fell fifteen feet. Nobody remarked on his awkwardness at such a moment.

After all, such an honor would fluster anybody.