Throughout the show, Jonah is shown to be quite socially awkward, often slipping up in conversations. He is also shown to struggle with picking up social cues, especially from Garret (who has a very sarcastic sense of humour). He is shown to have a very literal interpretation of social interactions, such as allowing a burglar robbing the store to get past because he said "excuse me".
He is also shown to be emotionally sensitive and open with high levels of empathy. His parents remember him as "always crying" as a child.
Jonah also has a very strong moral compass and sense of justice, and is very passionate about certain topics. He is shown to prioritise standing up for these beliefs over his job sometimes, such as engaging in a heated political debate with Glenn in the middle of the store in front of customers.
He is also shown to pour all his energy into his "projects", usually to do with workers' rights lol. There are episodes where Jonah's entire arc is just him yapping about something new, which could be seen as hyperfixations.
He is hinted at having been bullied/socially ostracised as a child.
He has a unique take on Halloween, dressing up as things like "the disappearing bee crisis", "gerrymandering", or my personal favourite "brexit".
And if I may just take your breath away / I don't mind if there's not much to say / Sometimes the silence guides a mind / To move to a place so far away / The goosebumps start to raise / The minute that my left hand meets your waist / And then I watch your face / Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah / These hearts adore, everyone the other beats hardest for / Inside this place is warm / Outside it starts to pour
Warnings: Mature language and themes. Sexual content.
Chapter One: How Joan of Arc Felt
“I… don’t like pizza…”
He frowns, feeling dejected. “Oh…”
I sat at a table by myself during my break at work, staring up at my coworker blankly, not exactly sure why my lunch was being intruded on by someone trying to randomly ask me out on a date.
“Oh, well…” he tries to think. “Would you… wanna get… Mexican food…?” he looks at me expectantly, hoping for some kind of approval.
I stare up at him, blinking profusely. He just nods, finally getting the hint.
“Okay, maybe the cuisine isn’t the issue…” he says awkwardly, deciding for some reason to take the seat across from me, hilariously missing the point, “Maybe I should start smaller…”
I just sigh as I finish my food, reaching into my bag next to me for my book, as he just watches.
“So… I don’t think I’ve seen you around, when did you start?”
I don’t look up. “About a month ago.”
This seems to confused him.
“A month ago,” he questions, “What—I don’t remember ever seeing you around…”
I turn the page in my book. “Yeah, I tend to avoid the break room…”
For obvious reasons.
He nods awkwardly. “Right…” he looks up nervously, “Sorry, what’s your name?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Sophie.”
For some reason, this is phenomenal.
“Sophie! Right! Lovely name,” he compliments me.
The level of intimacy there was to his eye contact was enough to make my fear of commitment kick in.
“I’m Jonah…”
I look up at him, forcing a smile as I try to get him to get the point. “Okay…!”
He just nods, glancing down at the table. “Right… Not much of a talker, are you?”
I give him another forced smile, trying to reiterate my point. I look back down at my book, trying to enjoy the rest of my break as I listen to music.
“So… Whatcha reading?” he chuckles, desperate to come off as friendly.
“Bukowski.”
“Oh… Wow. Edgy,” he chuckles nervously, only to be met with silence.
I continue ignoring him.
“What book is it?” Jonah asks me.
I drawl, sounding bored, “Love Is a Dog From Hell.”
“Wow… That’s a great one. I mean— From what I’ve heard. I haven’t… actually read it… I heard it’s wrought with hall that Bukowski raw grittiness, you know?”
I was polite enough not to audibly sigh.
“So, uh… what are you listening to? Anything good?”
“Are you saying I’d be listening to something bad?”
He’s flabbergasted. “What?! No… I just… Uh, what are you listening to?”
“My favorite band.”
“What’s, uh… your favorite band?”
“Devil’s Witches,” I told him.
“Ooh. Sounds… really cool, what genre are they?”
I sigh. “A mix of doom metal and acid rock.”
“Really?” he asks, interested. “What are, uh… What are their songs about?”
“Sex, witchcraft, and the Vietnam War.”
He looks stunned by the variety. “Sex, witchcraft, and the… Vietnam War, huh?”
He thinks for a moment.
“Is that… interesting for you?”
I look up at him, trying not to glare.
“I-No, no,” he says, quickly realizing his mistake, “Not because you’re Vietnamese—”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I mean—Uh, I’m not… assuming that you’re Vietnamese,” he said, looking at me a bit too hard. “Are you… Viet—You know what? It’s none of my business,” he smiles.
I just nod, fake-smiling as I look back down at my book.
“You’re… not the social type, are you?” he surmised.
I decided to at least validate that with a response. “Nope.”
Jonah leans forward, curious about something. “Hey, what’s your Myers-Briggs type?”
I felt like I was talking to a child. I sigh, putting down my book and taking out my earbuds. It was clear to me I wasn’t going to get any peace and quiet any time soon, so I decided to bite.
“Why don’t you guess?”
He looks shocked, as if he wasn’t actually expecting me to participate in the conversation.
“I-Uh… I don’t know, I wanna say…”
I raise an eyebrow, which quickly throws him off. It was pathetic, but also the tiniest bit attractive, in a weird, roundabout way.
“I don’t know, you’re stoic, and direct…” he thinks to himself, definitely overthinking, “I don’t know… maybe ISTJ?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Jonah accepts this with a nod. “Uh… INTP, then?”
“Mm-mm,” I shake my head.
“Hmm, okay, let’s see… ENTJ?” he guesses.
“Nope.”
“Uh… ISTP?” he offers.
“Wrong.”
Jonah looks stumped. “What about… INTJ?”
I smile. “Finally.”
He chuckles, seeming fairly pleased with himself. “Wow. Really? I guess that makes sense,” he remarks.
“How so?” I ask him.
He seems surprised by the question. “I… I don’t know. You seem calculated, and intelligent…”
I keep up with the Aubrey Plaza stare, unimpressed. He keeps going.
“Perceptive…”
He looks at me inquisitively, trying to figure me out like a puzzle. “So, what’s your enneagram type?” He can’t wait to share. “I’m a 1. 1w9.”
I just sigh. “I’ll save you some time… INTJ, 8w9, 853, RCOEI, VLFE, choleric-melancholic, sp/sx.”
He stares at me in complete disbelief, in awe of my tangent.
“Wow. You’re, like, really into typology. You know, I’m actually super into it myself…. ENFJ. 152. SCOEI, LEVF, sanguine-phlegmatic, sx/so…” he grins. “Looks like we have some huge differences, and some huge similarities…”
I’m not quite sure how, but he somehow made discussing typology uncomfortable.
“Wait, hold on,” he said, seeming genuinely troubled, “Can I… ask you, about some of your types, because they seem kind of contradictory…”
I frown. “How is my personality contradictory?”
He quickly tries to reassure me. “No, no, that’s… I just mean, I’ve never heard of an INTJ being an 8… Or a VLFE, or choleric…”
I raise an eyebrow. “So… How often, exactly, do you discuss typology with people in real life? And how many of those people, would you say, have actually been INTJ’s? And if they were, how many of them have been different types? And also, it’s just not that big of a deal?”
Jonah grimaces awkwardly. “Okay, I see your point…”
He tries to think. “Uh… What would be a better, less controversial topic to discuss… Politics? Religion? Abortion guns?”
I scoff with laughter. He smiles, seeming glad to have at least partially won me over.
“And what exactly is an ‘abortion gun’?”
He just shrugs charismatically. “I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.”
We both chuckle, a momentary silence between the two of us.
“Well, you’re in luck. I’m not really religious.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Jonah agrees, “I do kinda understand the appeal of spirituality, though.”
I nod. “Yeah… I guess if I had to choose, I’d be partial to Satanism,” I shrug.
“Ha,” Jonah laughs immediately, grin slowly fading as he observes the lack of humor in my tone. “Wait… You’re not… serious, are you, like, that was just a joke?”
“Why would it be a joke?”
Maybe I was being too hard on the guy; I don’t know. Maybe he was being perfectly nice, and I was being standoffish and unpleasant, but something about being receptive of this interaction just didn’t sit right with me. Jonah was fairly pretentious; he was kind of entitled, and a bit of a nuisance, and I felt like I had to at least try to point that out to him, or else I was just being a doormat and letting this Berkeley Ken doll walk all over me. I don’t know; maybe I should’ve been nicer to him, but part of me wanted to test him in every way I could, to make sure he truly deserved my kindness first before I offered it to him.
Jonah scoffs, “I don’t know… You just… seem very intelligent… I mean, it makes sense, with the tattoos, and stuff, but…”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Uh—I mean… You don’t seem like you’d worship the devil…”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you know what Satanism is?”
Jonah scoffed dismissively for someone who started this conversation. “Well, not really…”
Of course. Guys like him, tip-of-the-iceberg liberals, love to preach inclusivity and diversity and acceptance, until it comes to Satanism, or Luciferianism, or the existing practice of witchcraft.
“Most Satanists are LaVeyan Satanists. LaVeyan Satanists are atheists. They don’t believe in any god, or beings.”
He gives me a funny look.
“But… They still believe in… the idea of Satan? What is the idea of Satan, I mean, other than sin, and evil…”
I stare at him, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Satanists believe in free will, and logic…”
“How does… the devil… represent free will?”
“How does he… not?” I question.
“But, God represents love and faith… The devil represents evil, and sin.”
I frown. “I thought you said you weren’t religious.”
“Oh, well, I’m not, but…” he sighs. “I don’t know, I just can’t justify following a religion that promotes evil, and sin…”
“Really, dude?”
He seems surprised. “What? I just…”
I laugh, seeing the irony of his ‘woke’ persona.
“You just what? Think one religion is better than another? Even if you don’t know anything about it?” I smile, loving this.
Jonah comes unraveled. “Uh…”
“Would you have said that if I were Buddhist? Or Muslim?”
“Uh, well, that’s… different…”
I laugh at him still. “Can you even tell me, say, the commandments of Satanism?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, no…”
I cross my arms expectantly.
“Okay. That was unfair,” he admits.
“Yeah?”
He stares at the table for a moment, thinking.
“Hey… Would you mind telling me about it… maybe? I’m kinda curious now,” he offers.
I consider it for a moment. “About what, exactly?”
“Well, I don’t know… I just always thought the devil was evil,” he explains.
“Well… some might argue that God is evil,” I shrug.
“But…” he pauses, “How is God evil?”
“Uh… genocide? Like, all of them? From the beginning of time?” I reason.
Jonah stares off into space. “Right…”
I sigh. “Look… Say what you want about Satanism, but it was technically created to undo all the religious trauma other religions created. I mean, it’s probably the only religion that includes not making unwanted sexual advances, or asking someone who’s bothering you to stop before ‘destroying them’, which is probably the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
He looks at me uncomfortably. “But… that sounds kind of excessive,” he notes.
“Have you heard Exodus 21?”
He shakes his head “No, I don’t think I’m familiar…”
“So, Exodus 21 states that if a man strikes his servant with a rod, he shall be punished. But if that slave lives on for ‘one or two days’, the man will not be punished because, and I quote, ‘the slave is his money’. Does that not sound excessive to you?”
He chuckles nervously, “Wha—No! That’s not… Okay, yeah… Fair point. I guess I didn’t realize I had a bit of a bias. Wow. You’re right…”
I just nod, before going back to my reading. He looks at me with disdain.
“Hey, you know… You could be nicer to people, you know?” he scoffs.
I look up at him in disbelief. “I’m sorry?”
He looks at me angrily. “What, I’m trying to have a conversation with you, and—”
“Yeah. You’re trying to have a conversation with me. On my break. While I clearly wanted to be alone,” I argue.
“I—Well, you were pretty rude to me—”
I laugh bitterly, “Because you sat down in front of me, without asking, asked me on a date, then started asking me a bunch of personal questions, and then judged me, all in a weird attempt to flirt with me.”
He seems genuinely shocked. “Oh. Well—”
“No, now it’s my turn to talk, pretty boy. You came over to talk to me, knowing I wanted to be alone, just to try and convince me to like you. Well, guess what, dude?” I groaned. “You’re not better than me just because you smile more. You’re not Mr. fucking Rogers just because you started this conversation. You’re being rude, and annoying, and just weird!” I cried.
Jonah just sits there, stunned. “Wow. I… Wow.”
He looks at me apologetically, trying to apologize.
“I’m sorry, God, I never thought of it that way… I’m sorry, Sophie, I didn’t mean to bother you,” he breathes.
I just sigh. “It’s fine, Jonah, I don’t care…”
For some reason, I just couldn’t make my mind up about this guy. Was he sweet, and confused, or was he just an asshole in sheep’s clothing? We both sat in awkward silence, just as Garrett rolled into the break room. Garrett looks up at me as he stops at the vending machine, seeming to pick up on the odd moment transpiring between me and Jonah.
“Sophie…!”
I nod. “Hey.”
“Want something from the vending machine?” he asked politely.
I look over at him, grinning. “Yeah, sure… While you’re down there.”
Garrett smirks, grabbing me my usual bag of chips from the vending machine. Jonah looks automatically offended, speaking up on Garrett’s behalf.
“Hey, that’s messed up! You can’t—”
Jonah watches, mouth agape, as Garrett hands me my chips, not realizing he was in on this the entire time.
“Oh. You guys…”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Garrett chimes in, a frown on his face. “We’re friends. We do this every time, man.”
Jonah just nods. “Oh…”
I stare at him, opening my chips as Garrett moves over to another table in the break room.
*****
Later that same day, I stop outside Cloud 9 after I clock out, lighting up a cigarette as I see someone approaching me.
“Hey…”
I look over to see Jonah standing there, hands in his pockets in a rather uncomfortable position.
“Hey,” I respond, not necessarily enthusiastic.
“So…” he begins, “We got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we?”
I nod as I look down at the ground. “Yup…”
He lets out an uncomfortable sound, reminded of the horrible start we’d gotten off to earlier in the day.
“So… Agh,” Jonah groans, “Hey, I’m really sorry about that, uh, all of it, I didn’t mean to…”
I just sigh, not knowing what to say, “Look, Jonah… I really don’t care. Okay? Everyone has off days, everyone gets awkward. I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself. Okay? We’re good, starting now.”
Jonah just looks at me, completely stunned. “I-Wow. Uh, thank you,” he says, looking relieved.
I just nod quietly as I enjoy my cigarette. He then chuckles shyly as he looks me up and down, back in douche-mode, evidently. I try my best to ignore his outright male sluttiness.
“So… Uh, you’re a Bukowski fan?”
I nod. “Mhm.”
“What other authors are you into?” he asks me. “I’m curious…”
“I… Like Poe, Oscar Wilde, Dostoevsky, Kafka…”
He nods, impressed. “Wow. I, uh… expected Poe, given your whole… look,” he says with an odd grin.
I just nod, looking down at my tattoos. “Right.”
“Didn’t expect Kafka, though. Or Dostoevsky. Your taste is very… bespoke.”
“Sure,” I offer, somewhat annoyed by the word.
“So, you… Seem like the wild type,” he flirts, watching me stomp out my cig as I just raise an eyebrow.
“What?” I question.
Jonah grins. “You know… I’m sure you like to live on the wild side. Get into all sorts of trouble…”
I almost vomited on the spot. He suddenly clears his throat, just now realizing he should be embarrassed. But before he can embarrass himself any further, I hear my name.
“Soph!”
Jonah and I both look. Jonah watches as I run to hug my daughter, currently being dropped off by her father.
“Hi, baby!” I smile as Jonah watches.
I can tell that he’s shocked as I greet my five year-old daughter, Gigi, looking up at Ryan, her father.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
He just nods. “I’ll pick her up from school tomorrow.”
I watch as he heads back to his car, leaving.
“Ready to go?” I ask her.
Gigi nods excitedly as I take her hand and lead her to my car, away from a rather guilty and embarrassed Jonah.
