Killin’ Time

We’re now waiting for our flight to OK City and we’ve got nothing to really do. Better add some spice to all y’alls boring lives. (Another joke, again, don’t get mad at me!) I’ll probably tell you about things I forgot to in the past emails. But that’ll be after I talk about the trek of getting here.

Let’s start with GETTING UP AT 3:30 AM. Which was, as the kids say, a doozy. So we trudged out of bed, grabbed our things, and made it to the checkout. Eventually boarded a bus and then got to a train station. Took the train to another, smaller train, and then we were at the airport.

I was sitting across from these two sisters on the first train and they were cool, but one saw my last name and asked, “Do you happen to know a Zach Schroeder?” And I’m just like, “Well of course I know him, he’s me.” But I was spooked when she just GUESSED my first name.

As far as stories go, let’s just go right ahead and expose Elder Archer for the thriving chaos he left with me. I’ll explain. Elder Archer was being himself, and talking in his sophisticated voice and was saying, “You know, I’ve got quite the 5 o’clock shadow” as he strokes his chin real slow like. And I just respond with, “That’s neat buckaroo” But THEN this fool is like, “Want to feel it?” And GRABS MY FACE AS IF WE’RE ABOUT TO EXCHANGE KISSES and proceeds to AGGRESSIVELY RUB HIS TINY FACE HAIRS ON MY POOR UNSHELTERED CHEEK. Weeks of therapy, and I probably still won’t recover. Now when someone brings up 5 o’clock shadows I’m gonna flinch. But ya know what Elder Archer, at least you replaced that hint of fear with traumatic, lifelong terror. More power to ya. Actually if he had any more power you would probably quake in his presence.

And if we’re exposing people we GOTTA talk about what Sister Jones does. You may think a refreshing beverage is something like a glass of ice water with not one, but two lemons, but not Sister Jones. THIS PSYCHOPATH DRINKS THE UNHOLY ELIXIR THAT IS SODA WATER. Ya know, the mixture that consists of carbonation, water, and probably THE SWEAT RIGHT OFF SATAN’S BACK. It is NASTY. You’ve probably tried it if you’ve ever gotten Sprite and you take a swig but it doesn’t taste right, and it ends up making your soul run laps around your body. But of course, I am a man of raw strength. So it inevitably came down to me having to taste this for myself, ya know, to keep me living in CONSTANT PAIN. Because that’s how you grow as a person. So I fill up the paper cup with the bane of all taste bud happiness, and journey back to the table. I inform Sister Allen that I will, and I quote, “Make no facial expression at all” And remember, I end up making faces when I just talk. So as I bring the clear beverage of horror to my quaking lips, I can hear every guardian angel in a four-block radius begging me to stop as the grim reaper just rests his hand on my shoulder and I

Begin
To
Drink.

I simultaneously feel all 7 stages of grief in a matter of milliseconds and I just keep on drinking. By the time I had transported this carbonated vinegar to my stomach, I turn to Sister Allen, and like a kid on Christmas, my eyes begin to tear. “Why Santy Claus, why?” echo the words of regret in my head as I suck those tears back into my skull. There is no place for weakness at the MTC. I was fool for believing that I could take on the burden of pain that is soda water. But shout out to Sister Jones, who can somehow get joy out of that. And I won’t leave Sister Jones in a questionable light of moral sketchiness. She’s awesome and it’s always a good time to poke fun at her. Keep sneezing on, my sniffly friend.

That’s gonna be all for now. I’ll email next week with more of my dull, uneventful life. As always, thanks for the support and I’ll keep being me.

Over and Out