My MTC Morning

"What's wrong with it now?"

I looked at the missionary sympathetically, but rules are rules. "Elder, there's paper all over the floor, your top shelf hasn't been dusted, and the window's all smudged. If more than two items on the sheet are 'Needs Work,' we have to rate the room 'Unacceptable.' I'm just trying to do my job."

There were eight missionaries in the room, and by this point half of them were out of their chairs, ganging up on me. You wouldn't think that a bunch of 19 year-olds in suits and ties could be quite so intimidating. The leader took another step towards me. "But this is our first inspection. We didn't know! We've only been here a week."

"It's a good thing you'll be here for another few weeks," I said, smiling and trying not to cower in the circle of very tall penguins elders. "This inspection awakened you to a sense of your awful guilt, and now you have the chance to repent."

"But Sister -"

"Jessica, are you okay?"

The elders backed off, turning to see my partner Matt standing in the hall, eyebrow raised. I took advantage of the distraction and hurried out of the room. "Sorry, Elders," I called. "Better luck next week." The sounds of their frustration followed me out down the hall. Matt looked back at the room for a moment, then shrugged. He went back to the custodial closet, and I continued critiquing the classrooms.

Walking down the hallways, I let the typical missionary chatter bounce around in my ears. Blah blah Prayer blah blah the Spirit blah blah Laundry . . . . My attention was caught by a group of elders who had cornered their District Leader, who looked extremely embarrassed. "No, really," one of them was saying, "You're incredible. Sometimes I feel the Spirit just by walking past you!"

"The Prophet just needs to clone you," another added. "Then you can preach the gospel everywhere!"

"Guys, please stop," the District Leader said, looking at me nervously. "This is so weird . . . ."

When I got downstairs, I looked for Matt to tell him the story. He was refilling chemicals, so I leaned against the wall across from him. But before I could open my mouth, an elder came sprinting around the corner and pushed past me, yelling "Get him away from me!"

Companionship issues, I thought. I looked back to where the elder had come from, and sure enough his companion was looking for him. "Where'd he go?" his voice called. I started forward, thinking to help, just as the companion came around the corner. He was holding a nearly invisible thread, from the end of which was hanging . . .

My spidey-senses exploded in my brain. I immediately leaped behind the first Samoan elder I could find, peeking out from behind his shoulder (well, elbow) to look at the evil, spider-wielding companion. "Get that out of here!" I demanded, laughing nervously.

The elder saw my terror and grinned, taking another step forward. Fortunately, I have been blessed with a soul-scorching glare, and he soon realized that I didn't think his little prank was funny. He took the spider back to the other elders in his district and they stomped it to death together. Rolling my eyes, I let go of the Samoan missionary and escaped to the third floor.

On the third floor I found three elders sitting outside the bathroom. Amused, I asked, "You all waiting for your companions?"

They nodded, looking exasperated. Most of the time the elders do a good job of obeying the "Sight or Sound" rule of keeping close to their companions. But for some reason, the elders seem to really hate having to wait for them when they go to the bathroom. (The sisters don't mind at all. They're used to going to the bathroom in groups.) I needed to get into the bathroom to restock the toilet paper anyway, so I parked myself beside these elders. "Where are you headed on the mission?" I asked.

"Arizona," one of them answered. "We get to leave in six days." His fellows nodded, looking as if they couldn't wait to get out of this place.

I grinned, but before I could ask anything more another of the elders in their district came running over to talk to me. (Elders love talking to me. I think it has something to do with the fact that I'm a female who wears pants.) The missionary spoke in hushed tones, but his eyes were excited. "Did you know," he asked, "that Elder Archuleta is here?!"

I stared at him blankly. "Who?"

"Elder Archuleta!" He rolled his eyes. "You know, David Archuleta?"

"Oh yeah!" It was weird at first to hear him called 'Elder.' "He's here? Here where? In the building?"

The missionary shook his head, "He's here in the MTC. We saw him!" His companions nodded, looking excited too. The missionary continued with wide eyes, still speaking confidentially, "I saw him in the cafeteria this morning. He was drinking orange juice."

"Really?" I asked. He'd given me a significant look and I didn't really understand it.

"Yes!" The elder shook his head as if he couldn't believe it. "He's going to feel awful later. That MTC orange juice does bad things to your insides."

"Ah." I blinked, and involuntarily we all glanced toward the bathroom door across from us. On the wings of that awkward silence I left the elders to their contemplations.

And I thought, for about the seventy-five millionth time since coming to the MTC, "Oh, Elders . . . "