Genesis of the Trade Association Manager



It was A God’s* workshop, Saturday, at ten to 5†, and The Arch Angel (Probationary) - let’s call him Gabriel - was about to tidy God’s bench.

† Author’s note: Time’s a difficult concept for an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent supreme being, let’s just run with it for now.

Gabriel: Aghast at the mess. ‘Oh! My God? What shall I do with these leftover bits?’

God: ‘Gabriel, I like what you did there, very catchy.’

Gabriel: ‘Yes my God. But about the bits sire?’

God: ‘Well, what do we have left? I’m sure I used all the important bits and accommodated most of mankind’s professions. I am omniscient you know?҆

Gabriel: [under his breath, ‘So you keep saying.’] More audibly, ‘From here, I’d say, a big mess?’

God: ‘Gabriel, I can hear your thoughts too you know. And just remember how the vacancy came about.’ God thought, then said, ‘Well, I’ve created the hunter-gathers - they were first - then the farmers, the nurses from leftover bits of angels, the carpenters, the engineers - I’m especially proud of those - lawyers and so forth.’

Gabriel: ‘It’s mainly oddments of talents sire, a few obscure skills and knowledge, bits and bobs, a mish-mash really. Also, I thought you had another lot in mind for the original profession? And weren’t you leaving the lawyers to Satan?’

God coughed, then wafted a finger to erase the memory of the ‘original profession’ from Gabriel’s mind: ‘I was, but Satan’s terribly busy already – I already gave him the politicians.’ He smiled: ‘And the journalists. After all he’s been very naughty!҆ God pondered, then smiled to himself again… ‘Well, Mr Arch Angel Probationary, what would you do?’

Gabriel looked the look of a benevolent celestial being that had just been given a pallet load of 5000 piece jigsaw puzzles… unboxed and in a bin bag. Then looking at the celestial clock ticking closer to five, he said: ‘Well by definition you’ve done everything! There’s nothing left.’

God: ‘Gabriel, come, come, how wrong you are. Work the problem.’

Gabriel, rummaging: ‘Well, there’s a ton of leftovers from the service package. “Care,” “attention,” “a desire to serve” and so forth. There’s a bit of Policeman, and politician – you know the nicer bits - some oddments of lawyer, accountant, secretary, some very fines pieces of bureaucrat – the helpful kind?’

God: ‘Go on.’

Gabriel: ‘Historian, some engineering, there’s a bit of clairvoyant – hmmm, the warranty has expired though - arbitrator, some IT expertise although it’s a bit rusty, tact, diplomacy, quite a bit of entertainer and forbearance left over, oh there’s even a few bits of counsellor and confidant, and a colossal amount of patience!’

God: ‘Gabriel, what trade is there where all that might all that be useful?’

Gabriel thought hard: ‘Oh! I’ve got it! Trade Association Manager Sire?’

God: ‘Exactly Gabriel, exactly.’

Gabriel: ‘And their patron Saint sire – you did say every trade had to have one?’

God sat back, closed his eyes and contemplated his large Ambrosia, with ice and a slice. He beamed: ‘Gabriel, let it be Jobe.’

*Insert deity of choice, or indeed none. The intention was to be humorous and no offence intended.

Summer 2020 // Issue 53
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