Where's Your Savior Now, Molly?

This is a follow-up report to a post from 3-7-05, originally posted as "God Drops Ball, Clown Saves Day" . Perhaps there is cosmic justice...

To review briefly, Molly worked loosely with me, in the same building. She is a Canadian citizen and had to leave her position because of new USA policies in homeland security/immigration. She was pregnant and not pleased with her untimely dismissal. Luckily, I skillfully negotiated a new position for her, landing her a great job with excellent benefits near Detroit. It was not easy for me to talk another scientist into hiring someone based only on my recommendation, especially when she'd start work and not actually even be there. She was going to move to the area, work now and then, yet would draw a full paycheck and benefits for six months until she could arrange daycare for the new baby. The new employer had connections to resolve the immigration issues. I should be negotiating contracts for the NFL!

When I emailed her about the position and amazing arrangements, she wrote me back saying, "Yes, God works in funny ways and I owe him greatly for this gift. It has really helped us at a bad time."

After picking my jaw up off the floor, I silently stewed in anger. Molly gave no thanks to me, no damn gift basket, no bottle of Quervo, just praise to an invisible man that didn't have the capacity to fix the situation in the first place.

_________

Turn the calendar ahead to June, three months after her personal savior allegedly got it done for her. After she left her old job, bought a new place in Detroit, moved, had a baby and nestled into her new situation, the new place that hired her went through an unexpected audit and after discovery of some financial improprieties, layed off half the work force. Since she was being paid and not even physically working there yet, she was the first to go.

A new mortgage, a new baby, a new life, and no dream job. She was royally fucked. Where's your savior now, Molly?


The sick part is, instead of angrily shaking her fist at the clouds and blaming her all-controlling God for the disaster, she probably got on her knees in an empty church rubbing a fistfull of beads on a string. She's likely asking for strength and guidance. She's likely asking for help through the crisis. She's asking for a miracle.

This is the deranged, clouded thought process of someone suffering from the mental illness of religious intoxication. Schmootzie has a thick-ass Rolodex, a solid professional network, and a history of making problems go away. I solved the problem before, and only an unforeseen audit separated her from a cherry position that baby jesus somehow couldn't come up with.

So Molly, best of luck. Turn to the sky for guidance and strength, repeat ancient mantras to an almighty being that is not really there. Look to the dead guy that was nailed to a stick 2000 years ago, and ignore the wealth of people in the here and now that care about you and want to help.

Religion is a mental illness.