Once upon a time, there was an Average Joe. He built many, many things, and became quite
famous. He began to luxuriate in his
wealth and fame at last. It was a very
fine thing to do. After all he had
succeeded purely on the basis of his own efforts.
But in this world, where there is spite and calamity, a lot
of people were not succeeding at all.
And some of them were particularly angry at Average Joe. Why did he have all these things that they
did not have? Why did he come and get
their stuff and overturn their objects in their playground? One or two of these have-nots began to
scheme against Average Joe. They
adopted a chant of “One in the eye of Average Joe”.
One of the schemers in fact had a lot of money and a lot of
vengeance in his heart. He decided to
break the things of Average Joe in order to teach him a lesson.
One night the schemer, Jack the Lad, came up with an
idea. He would throw his darts at the
buildings of Average Joe and start a war with him. When Jack the Lad had completed the details
of that idea in his head he chuckled a deep belly laugh. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said. “I’m going to get that Average Joe and then
he’s gonna know it!”
So Jack the Lad plotted and schemed, plotted and
schemed. Then on the day when Average
Joe was fast asleep in his comfortable bed, covered in eiderdown, Jack the Lad
threw his darts at the buildings of Average Joe, and made them all fall down.
“Fee, Fi Fo Fum” he shouted, and
he scurried away into the bushes, never to be seen again.
The next day, Average Joe got up out of bed and rubbed his
bleary eyes. He looked around and got
some coffee. He was not sure what, but
something had interrupted his sleep, giving him bad dreams this time, unlike
the night before. He grabbed the newspaper
that had been deposited at his door.
What Average Joe saw made his heart skip a beat. The headlines blared, “Average Joe’s twin
castles: Knocked Down!
This devastating news marked the
end of any restful, sleepy nights for Average Joe. He would never sleep well again.
Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that had cursed him
henceforth, but something formed a knot of obsession in the heart of Average
Joe. He vowed to himself that he would
track down and kill the one who had destroyed his precious property, that he
had made with his own hands. He would
find the culprit and string him from the nearest tree, if it was the last thing
he did.
He put his mind to research, and as he progressed, he
understood things that were very much more complicated than anything else he
had understood before. He learned about
aerodynamics and jet engines, and some very, very complicated stuff. He began to realize at this point how Jack
the Lad had managed to destroy his twin castles. The new knowledge made Joe’s head
ache. He just didn’t know what to do
with the sort of knowledge. He would
have to tell someone about it.
But
first, he would have to deal with the terrible head-aches he had been getting
ever since hearing of the new of the demise of his twin castles. He would have to see a doctor or two and get
it all sorted out. It was the most
logical thing to do. After that, he
could try to tell his story to the world, who would be more likely to pay
attention to him if they didn’t think that his knowledge of things like
aeronautics and international terrorism and the like were merely the products
of a severe migraine headache.
So Average Joe went to see a doctor, who took his
temperature and blood pressure. “How
long have you had really high blood pressure?” the doctor wanted to know.
“At least since the time of the destruction of my twin
castles,” Joe replied, gravely.
“Twin castles?” What
are those?” asked the doctor with a bemused expression on his face.
Joe took in a deep breath, but decided he would risk telling
his story. After all the doctor looked
like a serious enough chap – someone who would be obliged to take his story
seriously, so long as he could make himself understood in the manner that was
considered normative to doctors.
So Joe began. Ho tole the whole story about the
middle-eastern terrorist, and how he had used the method or aerodynamics in a
plot of international terrorism to fell his twin castles. He explained that it wasn’t just about him
personally, but that there had been a huge loss of life, and if he didn’t stop
the culprit, the same guy could do it all over again. “It was a nightmare,” Joe explained. “And I think this is why I have those
head-aches!”
The doctor looked at Average Joe from the other side of his
large, mahogany desk. “Let me take your
blood pressure, again,” he said.
The blood pressure was still high.
“Now, what did you have to tell me about the giant?”
“Giant?” replied Average Joe. There was no giant. This was a middle eastern terrorist, I tell
you, who felled my twin towers, with two blows. He caused great harm to a lot of people.”
“Okay,” said the doctor. “Well you will have to go on blood pressure
tablets for the rest of your life.”
That response didn’t satisfy Average Joe, who really thought
he was on to something. “I will find
another doctor,” Average Joe said to himself, “One who really understands me,
because I feel this information might, somehow, be important.”
Joe used the one skill he had developed exceptionally well,
which was to do good research, to find the appropriate doctor for him, who
would listen to what he had to say, and take it in objectively. It would be a great boon for him to find a
suitable listener. Joe even thought that
it would enable him to stop having the really bad head-aches.
So Joe looked and looked, and
finally he came across a doctor who was eminently qualified to hear his
complaint, a Dr Mrytle, who had qualified very highly in the area of
Exceptional Listening Skills. She would
be the one person, if anyone on this earth, who would understand what he had to
say, and be able to share the grief he had been experiencing ever since the day
of the disastrous terrorism event.
Mrs Mrytle sat in her pristine, white office. She was obviously very clever. She had all her advanced degrees lined up
along the walls. She was also very
expensive. Not in the sense of demanding
money, as that was beneath her, but she demanded flattery, and you had to give
her exactly the right sort of flattery if you wanted to get her full attention.
Joe thought it was worth the risk. After all, she was the most qualified in
Exceptional Listening Skills, according to all the data he had acquired.
Joe knocked tentatively on her door.
“Hi, I’m Doctor Myrtle,” she said, greeting him with a firm
handshake, through a crisp white glove.
Here whole room seemed like the inside of one of the
capsules Joe would take for his infernal head-aches – crisp and white.
“What seems to be the problem?” asked Doctor Myrtle.
Joe decided to waste no time.
“You are very, very great, and so advanced in such a
wondrous way,” he said.
“I have a problem with bad
headaches, ever since the terrorist, bin Laden sent two of our own planes into
two of our largest land marks, which were tall buildings. He razed them to the ground. I have to tell
someone what happened!”
Doctor Myrtle looked at him over her spectacles.
“That will be $30 000, please. Plus a bit more flattery.”
“Okay,” said Joe.
“You are truly the bees knees. I
really appreciate all of your kind service, and here is the money paid up front
in cash.”
“Okay,” said Doctor Myrtle.
“So, what happened?”
“Let me start from the beginning, and I will tell you all
the details, backed up by my long months of research,” said Joe.
“I’m all ears,” responded Dr Myrtle, “After all, that is what my qualification
denotes, up there on the wall!”
So Joe recounted his story about international terrorism and
harm, whilst Doctor Myrtle counted up the cash.
After three hours and nine minutes of Joe’s ongoing saga,
the Doctor suddenly looked up as if she had understood completely every pain
and confusion that Joe has been harboring in his chest over the past
months. Joe felt deeply appeased, and
happy in a way that he had not felt for what seemed like years.
“It’s all here,” she said.
“I counted it through.
“Now, what did you have to tell me about the giant? Did he steal your toys?”
“No, no,” Joe said.
“You misunderstand!” “This isn’t
a story about a giant. This is a tragedy
of international proportions, linked to
international terrorism.
“Okay, well if you say so,” Myrtle replied. “The customer is always right.”
“Well, thanks for the consideration,” muttered Joe.
“But would you mind telling me from the beginning, how it
happened, and why you think this is what occurred?”
“Okay, then…” said Joe, about to
start his three-hour story again, from the beginning.
It took a long, long time to recount his story all over
again from the beginning, and by the end not only was Joe tired and bored with
his own subject material, but the doctor’s eyes had also glazed over.
“Well, can’t you build them somewhere else next time?” she
said.
“Build what?” asked Joe.
“Your precious twin castles?
You could build them out of the way of a flight path next time. It just makes better sense.”
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