The Non-Expert
Joe’s Lament
Experts answer what they know. The Non-Expert answers anything. This week ROSECRANS BALDWIN attempts to help a non-believer in the heartland by rewriting the Book of Job.
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Have a question? Need some advice? Ignored by everyone else? Send us your questions via email. The Non-Expert handles all subjects and is updated on Fridays, and is written by a member of The Morning News staff.
* * *
Question: Hey Non-Expert. I don’t know if this is a question but my work has gotten wack recently and I thought you’d enjoy it. I moved to Atlanta last year (I used to live in Astoria, represent) to work at a big software company. My new boss, who came in last month, has recently started a Bible-study group for our team (about 20 people) that meets after work at a Starbucks for discussions (and vente caramel mocha lattes, sweet). I’m the only one who doesn't go, and now, when my boss relates project milestones to the plagues of Zebadoah, I’m completely left out, being about as non-Christian as they come, and everyone very good naturedly gives me warm smiles. As Jesus said, WTF? —Joe
Answer: And it was when Joe returned from winning first prize in “Building Trusting Teams” at the company retreat that Cathy, his wife’s best friend who lived across the street, met his car with haste and served him divorce papers.
And Joe asked, shall I not have them from my wife’s hand? But Cathy was not given to liking him (she was given to gloating, and fattening, but not giving him a fair shake, thought Joe) and she did not reply.
And Joe was saddened. Through the door he saw that his furniture was gone. And his silver convertible German sports car, which he had named Berta, was missing from the garage. And his daughters, whom he had named after the car, were missing, too.
And Joe did not unpack. He emailed his wife’s Blackberry and waited a day for her reply. He waited seven more days and dispatched the message again, but this time it bounced and said, the following address had permanent fatal errors.
And Joe unpacked. He had not eaten in seven days. Behold, he told himself after much effort, I have made chips.
(For it was the only food remaining in the house. My wife, thought Joe, and her mysterious Lays.)
And why died I not from the womb? Joe lamented.
We wish thou hadst, said Cathy, leaning through the window, and Joe shut the window.
And why didn’t I select a more tolerant wife? he wondered.
And why seduced I Melanie, he considered, when Melanie was not, after all, Miss June 1988 (as she claimed)? And why, Joe wondered, did I not go full denial when asked by my wife, didst thou cheat?
Now Joe found it difficult to work. And he could not cease contemplating his wife’s image, thumbed in his wallet. And his wife, at times, was of beautiful countenance to him, yet at other times, vindictive, and a bitch. A maiden, his mother had said about his wife so long ago, a chick who is not given to marriage, this is she, and a widow, a divorced woman, and a harlot (though she was none of these), and a striking brunette too pretty for thy mug (she was this). But Joe had ignored the advice.
And then Joe dispatched flowers, which were returned.
And then all the chocolates had in Fulton County he sent, which were not returned, except for the caramel letters spelling “Take Me Back” which were returned postage-due and rearranged as “Back At Meek.” Yet Joe did not lose hope. He sent forth emails, saying, behold, babe, listen: I am strong enough to survive without you but sensitive enough to know that I should not want to. But Joe’s emails were not returned, and then he found himself subscribed to many offerings of Viagra he had not opted into.
And still he did not lose hope.
And one night his daughter, the older Berta, instant-messaged him. And sitting in his briefs, he was heart-full, but that was his bad, for she had clicked Joe’s emoticon by accident, Berta explained. She’d meant to chat instead with a man she’d met on the internet. And she typed to her father, LOL. And Joe asked, if she and the man were to get pizza sometime, could he chaperone?
And then she blocked his emoticon from her buddies list.
And rage consumed his mind.
And maidens at Tito’s, not given to marriage, turned down his Margaritas.
And Joe even took flowers, and an extension cord he once borrowed, and a poundcake to Cathy and asked her to be his messenger, but Cathy only replied, what, ain’t thee dead yet?
Finally LAWYER called to Joe and asked him, couldst thee do a meeting?
And Joe said to LAWYER, in thy name will she be there?
And LAWYER said, she will be there, but it will be a conference call and she will not speak.
And Joe participated in the conference call from his cell phone. The connection, at best, was not good, and Joe repeated to his wife, to endear him, canst thou hear me now? Yet he was not endeared.
And he was told by LAWYER not to speak to his wife unless spoken to; it’s a need-to-know basis; you’ve yet to actualize; and such lingo. And LAWYER said to Joe, let it not displease you that I cannot stand up for thee, for the custom of women is upon me, to find little in the word of man who fools around.
And Joe apologized the thousandth time yet his wife was silent while LAWYER read the terms of divorce to which Joe agreed, sobbing.
And the younger Berta asked Joe, willst thou purchase me an Apple iPod?
And Joe felt his heart rise, and Joe said, tomorrow, dear, I promise.
To which Berta replied, whatever, Mommy bought me one yesterday, and this made the older Berta laugh in the background, sounding just like her mother.
Then Joe addressed LAWYER, and said, I know thou controlleth every thing, and that no thought can be withholden from thee.
And LAWYER said, yeah.
And Joe said, then only will I ask for the car. But Joe’s wife, no longer full of silence but anger, told him that car Berta had been sold to pay for the education of daughters Bertas, and that he, Joe, could proceed to rot in hell.
And the connection failed because Joe had not lately charged his cell phone.
And after this lived Joe 30 more years, and saw his daughters, and his daughters’ daughters, on alternating federal holidays. And he never moved from his house, nor did he win more prizes in trusting teams, and though he worked every day until 64 he was heart attacked at his workstation for bad cholesterol.
And so Joe died, being old and full of Lays.
Question: Hey Non-Expert. I don’t know if this is a question but my work has gotten wack recently and I thought you’d enjoy it. I moved to Atlanta last year (I used to live in Astoria, represent) to work at a big software company. My new boss, who came in last month, has recently started a Bible-study group for our team (about 20 people) that meets after work at a Starbucks for discussions (and vente caramel mocha lattes, sweet). I’m the only one who doesn't go, and now, when my boss relates project milestones to the plagues of Zebadoah, I’m completely left out, being about as non-Christian as they come, and everyone very good naturedly gives me warm smiles. As Jesus said, WTF? —Joe
Answer: And it was when Joe returned from winning first prize in “Building Trusting Teams” at the company retreat that Cathy, his wife’s best friend who lived across the street, met his car with haste and served him divorce papers.
And Joe asked, shall I not have them from my wife’s hand? But Cathy was not given to liking him (she was given to gloating, and fattening, but not giving him a fair shake, thought Joe) and she did not reply.
And Joe was saddened. Through the door he saw that his furniture was gone. And his silver convertible German sports car, which he had named Berta, was missing from the garage. And his daughters, whom he had named after the car, were missing, too.
And Joe did not unpack. He emailed his wife’s Blackberry and waited a day for her reply. He waited seven more days and dispatched the message again, but this time it bounced and said, the following address had permanent fatal errors.
And Joe unpacked. He had not eaten in seven days. Behold, he told himself after much effort, I have made chips.
(For it was the only food remaining in the house. My wife, thought Joe, and her mysterious Lays.)
And why died I not from the womb? Joe lamented.
We wish thou hadst, said Cathy, leaning through the window, and Joe shut the window.
And why didn’t I select a more tolerant wife? he wondered.
And why seduced I Melanie, he considered, when Melanie was not, after all, Miss June 1988 (as she claimed)? And why, Joe wondered, did I not go full denial when asked by my wife, didst thou cheat?
Now Joe found it difficult to work. And he could not cease contemplating his wife’s image, thumbed in his wallet. And his wife, at times, was of beautiful countenance to him, yet at other times, vindictive, and a bitch. A maiden, his mother had said about his wife so long ago, a chick who is not given to marriage, this is she, and a widow, a divorced woman, and a harlot (though she was none of these), and a striking brunette too pretty for thy mug (she was this). But Joe had ignored the advice.
And then Joe dispatched flowers, which were returned.
And then all the chocolates had in Fulton County he sent, which were not returned, except for the caramel letters spelling “Take Me Back” which were returned postage-due and rearranged as “Back At Meek.” Yet Joe did not lose hope. He sent forth emails, saying, behold, babe, listen: I am strong enough to survive without you but sensitive enough to know that I should not want to. But Joe’s emails were not returned, and then he found himself subscribed to many offerings of Viagra he had not opted into.
And still he did not lose hope.
And one night his daughter, the older Berta, instant-messaged him. And sitting in his briefs, he was heart-full, but that was his bad, for she had clicked Joe’s emoticon by accident, Berta explained. She’d meant to chat instead with a man she’d met on the internet. And she typed to her father, LOL. And Joe asked, if she and the man were to get pizza sometime, could he chaperone?
And then she blocked his emoticon from her buddies list.
And rage consumed his mind.
And maidens at Tito’s, not given to marriage, turned down his Margaritas.
And Joe even took flowers, and an extension cord he once borrowed, and a poundcake to Cathy and asked her to be his messenger, but Cathy only replied, what, ain’t thee dead yet?
Finally LAWYER called to Joe and asked him, couldst thee do a meeting?
And Joe said to LAWYER, in thy name will she be there?
And LAWYER said, she will be there, but it will be a conference call and she will not speak.
And Joe participated in the conference call from his cell phone. The connection, at best, was not good, and Joe repeated to his wife, to endear him, canst thou hear me now? Yet he was not endeared.
And he was told by LAWYER not to speak to his wife unless spoken to; it’s a need-to-know basis; you’ve yet to actualize; and such lingo. And LAWYER said to Joe, let it not displease you that I cannot stand up for thee, for the custom of women is upon me, to find little in the word of man who fools around.
And Joe apologized the thousandth time yet his wife was silent while LAWYER read the terms of divorce to which Joe agreed, sobbing.
And the younger Berta asked Joe, willst thou purchase me an Apple iPod?
And Joe felt his heart rise, and Joe said, tomorrow, dear, I promise.
To which Berta replied, whatever, Mommy bought me one yesterday, and this made the older Berta laugh in the background, sounding just like her mother.
Then Joe addressed LAWYER, and said, I know thou controlleth every thing, and that no thought can be withholden from thee.
And LAWYER said, yeah.
And Joe said, then only will I ask for the car. But Joe’s wife, no longer full of silence but anger, told him that car Berta had been sold to pay for the education of daughters Bertas, and that he, Joe, could proceed to rot in hell.
And the connection failed because Joe had not lately charged his cell phone.
And after this lived Joe 30 more years, and saw his daughters, and his daughters’ daughters, on alternating federal holidays. And he never moved from his house, nor did he win more prizes in trusting teams, and though he worked every day until 64 he was heart attacked at his workstation for bad cholesterol.
And so Joe died, being old and full of Lays.
—Published June 23, 2006
