Humble Home

About an hour later, Elder Jones introduced me to our apartment. It was decorated in what I like to call “budget bachelor pad chic,” furnished with stuff the thrift stores were anxious to get rid of. A giant picture of a ship in hues of brown, orange, and black hung over the couch, which wrapped around a coffee table. The couch had enough holes to suggest the presence of a thriving rodent colony within its depths, and the coffee table looked as though a swarm of termites had nibbled on it only to find that it wasn’t up to their culinary standards. The most obvious feature of the front room, however, was the three-foot black spot on the carpet. Elder Jones explained that some missionaries had once tried to clean their bikes on the carpet, but that didn’t seem to explain the sheer size of the stain. My first thought was that some evil spirit entity had attempted to come through the floor but had been halted by the smell of missionary cooking, leaving behind its ectoplasmic residue on the carpet.

Missionary companionships are to share a bedroom, probably to ensure one of them doesn’t sneak out at night to engage in various illicit activities. One of the two bedrooms had been therefore converted to an office, in which a pair of mismatched desks sat. I chose this room to unpack because of its relative spaciousness. I was pleased to learn that each of us got our own bathroom, though Elder Jones had claimed the larger one, which included a walk-in closet, for himself.

I familiarized with the dwelling in which I would live for the next few months. Yes, the furniture was chipped and threadbare, but at least it was clean.