Joe thought he'd be treated like the talent, not the help. He assumed he'd be special, and be given special treatment, like he was hired based on his name and reputation. He went into it believing he'd be a celebrity on that leaky tub, and thought he'd be more or less "on vacation" between gigs. He thinks menial tasks and teamwork are beneath him, and not befitting of a man of his stature. And, like his withered fairy of a brother, he has no ability whatsoever to make friends or even be well-liked, as he quickly alienates everyone else with his rock star attitude, slovenly demeanor, and his inability to keep his gassy opinions to himself.
And on top of all that, he grossly underestimated how difficult and demanding his daily ship routine would be. Before his great journey, doing three or four Moose Lodge level gigs was a busy month for Joe, and he spent the rest of his time posting on Facebook, driving around buying shit, and shoveling food into his gaping maw. This trip was a massive reality check for the lumbering buffoon, and his false bravado can't disguise the fact he's barely even surviving it, let alone thriving.