My first week as district leader, I got a phone call.
It was from Elder Allen, one of the missionaries out in Pueblo Pintado.
"Um ..." he began. "I'm not sure who to tell about this, but my companion keeps calling phone sex hotlines."
A few days later, his companion was on an airplane headed home and Elder Allen was temporarily with Elder Findlay and me.
Remember my explanation of how nicknames worked in the mission? There were multiple Elder Allens, so they each got assigned a nickname. There was Texas Allen, Spanish Allen, and my new companion ... Serial Killer Allen.
Elder Serial Killer Allen had long hair — for a missionary — parted in thick black curtains reminiscent of Severus Snape. His eyes, a pair of beady little orbs, peered out with a constant bemused expression. He spoke slowly, and it was easy to imagine that he was planning to cut you up and store you in his freezer when you got home.
One morning Elder Findlay was making pancakes. I sat at the table with my scriptures and my planner open, trying to get a hang of this new district leader role, when some morsel fell off Elder Findlay's skillet onto the stove and began to burn. Our hyper-sensitive smoke alarm began to wail.
And wail.
And wail.
"Shut that thing off!" I bellowed when no one seemed to be making an effort to waft away the smoke. "Open the window!"
Cold air rushed in as Elder Findlay cracked the trailer's kitchen window, but the siren continued to screech.
"Urgh," murmured Elder Allen. I ran to the door and pushed it open, but still the alarm blared.
"Got it," said Elder Allen. I looked to see what he had been doing this whole time, and found that he had retrieved a BB pistol from his luggage. Weapons, I think, are specifically prohibited in the missionary handbook. If they're not, it's because our leaders assume we have good sense.
Sometimes our leaders give us too much credit.
Elder Allen squeezed off three rounds into the smoke detector, and it wailed its last.
"Got it," he said again, as Elder Findlay and I gaped.
Hahaha!
ReplyDelete