To cautiously go where others may, or may not, have gone before. Because how are you supposed to know, huh? To prudently pack at least two sets of clean underwear, a toothbrush, some cold-weather gear, and an umbrella, in case it rains. That's my credo. The guys who "boldly go" tend to disappear without a trace.

Anyway, my mission is also to explore strange new worlds, seeking out ever sillier civilizations that may make my own look a little better by comparison. So, this was one ...

The guy was eying me very suspiciously. I thought my cover was blown for sure.

"What are you lookin' at?" he growled at last. It was exactly what I was thinking, and I was glad that he asked first.

"Looking at?" I replied innocently. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Just basking in the glories of this beautiful day on your fair planet. In your fair city, I mean."

"You're lookin' at my earlobes," he said accusingly.

"I'm not," I said honestly. "I hadn't even noticed your earlobes. Do you have earlobes?"

"Hmph," he hmphed. It sounded like a truce. "It's just that I noticed that you're one of the tiny-lobed majority. You guys are always disrespecting us."

"Oh, not me!" I assured him. "I have no idea what you're talking about. That is, not all of us ... tiny-lobed, is it? ... are like that."

"Yeah, well, that's true," he admitted. "But a lot of you are. You don't sound like you come from these parts."

It was at least half a question.

"Oh, quite right, quite right!" I admitted hurriedly. No point in pretending to be a native. Next thing you know, he'd ask me who won some kind of sports championship in some year of some calendar I wasn't familiar with, and I'd be off to the labs for "study."

"So, ... where are you from?" he prompted.

"I'm from ... somewhere else! Um, over that way!" I gestured vaguely.

He shook his head. "Not very good at this, are you? Don't worry. I'm not going to ask you who won the Flibbit Cup in the Year of the Flatulent Marmot. Can't remember myself. You look harmless enough."

Ah, harmless enough. My strong suit.

"My name is Lobo, by the way." How unfortunate, I thought. He extended an appendage.

"And you're just in time to provide an impartial ear," he continued. "I - that is, we - are really pissed."

"And 'you' would be ...?" I queried.

"The big-lobed, of course," said Lobo. "The tiny-lobed run this country. They think they are the possessors of all wisdom and virtue. They won't let us have jobs, for Pete's sake! Can you imagine that?"

"Well, gosh," I commiserated. "How are you supposed to make a living, then?"

"Hear, hear," he agreed. He looked at his watch. "Thanks for listening. Gotta go. Don't wanna be late for work."

"For ... for work?" I couldn't help myself. "I thought you weren't allowed to have a job."

"Right you are," Lobo replied. "We can't have jobs, but we are allowed to work."

"Um, what's the difference?" I asked.

"All the difference in the world," he said. "The actual bosses hire people to jobs. And the people get a letter that says they have a job. We big-lobes only get to talk to the personnel people, and our letter says we have a work assignment."

"Oh, so your assignments are temporary, is that it?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "They're permanent, just like the jobs."

"But not as secure," I suggested.

"No. Just as secure."

"But the pay must be lower, then."

"Nope. Same pay."

"Benefits!" I realized. "You don't get benefits!"

"Same benefits."

"Ok, I don't get it," I admitted. "What is it that they get, but you don't?"

Lobo looked at me as if I were crazy. "They can have jobs, of course! We can only work!"

"I don't get it," I fumbled. "Why do the big-lobes make the distinction between the two?"

"They don't think we're worthy," explained Lobo. "A job is something holy."

"But ... there's no substantive difference," I said. "It's just a word." Big mistake.

"Just ... a ... WORD?" he gasped. "It's not just a word! It's respect!"

"But you do have jobs," I persisted. "They pay like a job, have benefits like a job, walk like a job, quack like a job, and all that. They're jobs. Don't you think the tiny-lobes would still despise you, even if they could bring themselves to call a job a job? Come to think of it, why don't you just start calling them jobs? What would the tiny-lobes do? Throw you in jail?"

"I can see you have no idea how civilization works," snarled Lobo. "I have half a mind to turn you in as an illegal alien."

Ok, that was my exit cue. But I had found one of the sillier civilizations.

 

Dr. Seuss's Sneetches eventually caught on. But that is precisely the difference between a Sneetch and a human, isn't it?