Because My Boss Loves a Good Mormon Joke

My boss is Mormon. I've talked about this on my blog before. He and I kind of have this brother and sister, make fun of each other at every given moment kind of relationship. We'll joke that he has so many kids that he can't remember all their names, or I'll throw in a polygamy joke on occasion, too. "I don't need more wives," he'll say. "I already have ten at the office that nag me and boss me around."

The Mormon Missionaries visit my house all the time. Seriously, like every couple of months. Sometimes it's the same ones, and sometimes it's new ones. I have respect for what they do, because I know that deep in their hearts, they are serving God the best way they have been taught. They have to make many difficult sacrifices and face a lot of flack for doing so. Even poor Dr. Bowers got a Slurpee thrown at him from a passing car while diligently riding his bike when he was on his mission. So because of that, I am always nice to them. Always. But at the same time, I am always honest with them, too. If I can sense that they can take a joke, I'll be all dramatic and say, "I can't become a Mormon!! You guys would make me give up coffee! It's my favorite thing in the whole WORLDDDDDDD! And why do you want me to suffer like that???" But sometimes when they start into their spiel I'll just stop them and say, "Look you guys. I am never going to become a Mormon. I have tons of Mormon friends, and I have done a lot of research on your religion and have a great deal of respect for many parts of it and what you're doing, but it's just never going to happen, and I don't want to waste your time out here." Then I'll change the subject, and ask them where they're from, how they like Washington, how their mission is going so far. Their little name tags only say their last name. One time I said to one of them, "Hey, what's your first name? WAIT! Don't tell me. Is it Paul? You look like a Paul."

"Nope. It's Sean."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Sean. Can I still call you Paul?"


One day at work I asked Dr. Bowers why they still come by my house, even when I tell them every time that I'll never join their church. "Is there like a gigantic map of Shelton at the Missionary Headquarters, with a little push pin marking my house, with a post-it saying Stop by there. She'll be nice. She may even invite you in for dinner?" (I did this once. They accepted. We ate lasagna.)

"Well," he said, "Maybe something like that. Or maybe they stop by often because you live in a neighborhood with lots of houses, kinda like trick-or-treating," then he pauses and gets a serious look on his face. "Or it's because God is sending them."

"Righttt...because my soul needs saving?" I'll laugh and roll my eyes.

So yesterday I left this picture on his desk with a little note saying Even in the far reaches of Cambodia, I cannot seem to escape them.