There’s a part in the movie Old School (on TNT of course) where Will Farrell, fighting for the continued existence of his and his friends’ quasi-fraternity, is put against the formidable James Carville in a debate contest. Farrell then, going against everyone’s expectations, including his own, eloquently (albeit loaded with platitudes) lays out a coherent position. It’s obvious he transcends his intellectual shortcomings the moment he seems to “snap back” into reality after laying out the argument. It’s almost as if he wasn’t himself; almost like he blacked out. Of course, Carville is speechless and Farrell is presumed to have won the debate contest. The ending to the movie is as predictable as Elder Uchtdorf referencing his pilot experience in a conference talk (not that there’s anything wrong with that). All lived happily ever after.
Well, something similar happened to me last week. I’ll get to that in a second.
As is customary, I waited until the last possible day of the month to go to the stake center for a renewal of the temple recommend. The Office wasn’t on because of the vice presidential debate, so I felt like if the wait became too long, I wasn’t really missing anything (is it November 5th yet!). Jenn advised that I go a little early since it seemed to get a little busy when she went the previous month.
So I show up at 6:40 pm, about 20 minutes before the doors open to the stake offices. I walked through the doors into the foyer and quickly observed that there were already 10 to 12 people sitting or standing and staring vacantly at each other! It was a little disheartening to say the least. It got me thinking. I wasn’t really surprised that there were so many people after arriving early, but I was strangely and tangibly disappointed. It’s like using the bathroom in the mission field at a member’s home—you always went into it knowing there wasn’t going to be any toilet paper but you were always disappointed when there really wasn’t.
So alas, there was no “toilet paper” and I didn’t feel like chanting “cheeks stay together”(i.e. hold it until next month), so after quickly scanning the room for a sign-up sheet (nothing) I accepted the dire situation, planted myself against a nearby wall and chalked up my situation as an opportunity to weaken my penchant for impatience. I brought an Ensign to read during the wait but couldn’t help looking up at the foyer doors. Person after person performing the same routine I had gone through just seconds and minutes earlier: walk into the foyer, look in vain for a sign up sheet, and find a space against the wall.
Over a five minute period this happened at least 10 times, which meant the wait room was now rivaling the National TV townhall debate audience – about 20 of us. The truth is I started to get fidgety. I was going to be weaseled out of my place in line by the lady who just came in with one of those limo-sized, penthouse-like baby car seats (that parents have to cram down between the pews at church, ripping off the wood finish in the process) and sat down right in front of the stake offices as if she were flying on Southwest or something. I envisioned a showdown of apocalyptic proportions: shoving to the front of the line, fraudulent claims of discrimination, ferociousness, preferential treatment and recklessness not seen since Congress’ role in irresponsibly encouraging subprime lending.
So I acted. This would be my moment of transcendence. The next few minutes were a blur, almost a “black out” if you will. I fast walked with blazing, hip-swinging speed toward one of the ward’s clerk’s office down the hall. I needed a pen and paper, and I didn’t have time to dilly dally. With composure and authority I kindly asked the gentleman in the clerk’s office (who was about my age and definitely TIVO’ing Battlestar Galactica at home) for a pen and paper.
“Uhhh, what do you need it for?” he asked.
Already feeling contempt for this inquisitor, I replied, “There are a million people in the foyer for Stake temple recommend interviews and no sign-up. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”
“I guess,” he said with irritation in his voice as he handed me a sheet of printer paper and pen. “But don’t be surprised if the stake rips it up once they get here. They don’t like when people do things like this.”
I was speechless. Are you kidding me? When people do things like what? Like taking the initiative in what could have turned out to be Armageddon. Ahhh, I love how we are so worried about the jots and the tittles in church life. Can you imagine the prophets and presidents of old (or new for that matter) taking issue with a filled out, “non-official” sign-up list? Maybe, but that was just amazing to me. It wasn’t like I was going to ask people in the foyer to sign a petition to make Stephanie Meyer an honorary member of the Quorum of the Seventy.
I laughed out loud to his comment, thanked Galactica Guy and scurried back to the foyer. I had to forget about him and his technotronic rigidity to protocol. Since I had been gone, at least two new faces appeared. Now came the moment of truth. With a rolled up Ensign in one sweaty hand, a pen and paper in the other, I walked slowly but steadily to the center of the foyer. Eyes pierced me with all the suspicion a roomful of anxious and guarded members could muster. For a split second I thought about capitulating, slowly retreating from whence I came, finding the place on the wall that had undoubtedly been overtaken by a newcomer. Then I saw the baby in the SUV-car seat and my resolved strengthened. I spoke up.
“I figure that since we still have ten minutes left before the stake opens their doors, we can start an ad-hoc sign up list.” For a couple of long drawn-out seconds, no one said anything. I felt like Napoleon Dynamite at the end of his “Vote for Pedro” routine. Crickets chirped with nay a seagull in sight. Then quietly a voice behind me spoke up. It belonged to an older woman of about 75 years. She kindly asked me if I was the Stake Executive Secretary. All eyes were on me like Pizza on the day before Fast Sunday. I responded to her that, no, I was “just a rogue lay member concerned by both the number of people here and the order in which the stake presidency calls us in for interviews.” A sign of ease visibly came over her face. She thanked me and told me it was a wonderful idea. It was as if her “approval” of the list allowed others to speak up. The floodgates opened and the list of names started flowing like the salmon of Capistrano. I made the list and honestly listed myself as #9.
About 10 minutes later, the stake president arrived at 7 pm sharp and with a bewildered look on his face, asked aloud with a smile crossing his face, “Do I dare ask who got here first?” I had placed the list on an end table in the foyer on which people could sign in once they arrived. Was he going to take the sign-up list, put a match to it, laughing in my face while everyone joined in? I made my way over to the list, showed it to him while explaining what had happened. You know what he said?
“That is great!”
So much for the list being shredded to pieces by the evil conspiring stake presidency. And with that, he called the first person back and I was out of there by 7:35. Not too bad. As a side note, the Stake Executive Secretary arrived at about 7:15 (!) wandered out to the middle of the foyer and asked, “Okay, who got here first?” I just shook my head. Of course he redeemed himself when one lady wanted to go early (before me) because she had to be leave at 7:30 pm. He stuck to his guns, asked her what number she was on my list (22) and told her they would try their best but they would have to go in order. Yes! Score one for Justice and Fairness in the World.
So that was my “debate” moment; stepping out of my comfort zone when I absolutely needed to, breaking down and repackaging my natural inclination for sideline observance. Zig Ziglar would be proud. I’m just glad I won’t have to go back for another two years. Maybe I’ll remember to take back the pen.
Well, something similar happened to me last week. I’ll get to that in a second.
As is customary, I waited until the last possible day of the month to go to the stake center for a renewal of the temple recommend. The Office wasn’t on because of the vice presidential debate, so I felt like if the wait became too long, I wasn’t really missing anything (is it November 5th yet!). Jenn advised that I go a little early since it seemed to get a little busy when she went the previous month.
So I show up at 6:40 pm, about 20 minutes before the doors open to the stake offices. I walked through the doors into the foyer and quickly observed that there were already 10 to 12 people sitting or standing and staring vacantly at each other! It was a little disheartening to say the least. It got me thinking. I wasn’t really surprised that there were so many people after arriving early, but I was strangely and tangibly disappointed. It’s like using the bathroom in the mission field at a member’s home—you always went into it knowing there wasn’t going to be any toilet paper but you were always disappointed when there really wasn’t.
So alas, there was no “toilet paper” and I didn’t feel like chanting “cheeks stay together”(i.e. hold it until next month), so after quickly scanning the room for a sign-up sheet (nothing) I accepted the dire situation, planted myself against a nearby wall and chalked up my situation as an opportunity to weaken my penchant for impatience. I brought an Ensign to read during the wait but couldn’t help looking up at the foyer doors. Person after person performing the same routine I had gone through just seconds and minutes earlier: walk into the foyer, look in vain for a sign up sheet, and find a space against the wall.
Over a five minute period this happened at least 10 times, which meant the wait room was now rivaling the National TV townhall debate audience – about 20 of us. The truth is I started to get fidgety. I was going to be weaseled out of my place in line by the lady who just came in with one of those limo-sized, penthouse-like baby car seats (that parents have to cram down between the pews at church, ripping off the wood finish in the process) and sat down right in front of the stake offices as if she were flying on Southwest or something. I envisioned a showdown of apocalyptic proportions: shoving to the front of the line, fraudulent claims of discrimination, ferociousness, preferential treatment and recklessness not seen since Congress’ role in irresponsibly encouraging subprime lending.
So I acted. This would be my moment of transcendence. The next few minutes were a blur, almost a “black out” if you will. I fast walked with blazing, hip-swinging speed toward one of the ward’s clerk’s office down the hall. I needed a pen and paper, and I didn’t have time to dilly dally. With composure and authority I kindly asked the gentleman in the clerk’s office (who was about my age and definitely TIVO’ing Battlestar Galactica at home) for a pen and paper.
“Uhhh, what do you need it for?” he asked.
Already feeling contempt for this inquisitor, I replied, “There are a million people in the foyer for Stake temple recommend interviews and no sign-up. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”
“I guess,” he said with irritation in his voice as he handed me a sheet of printer paper and pen. “But don’t be surprised if the stake rips it up once they get here. They don’t like when people do things like this.”
I was speechless. Are you kidding me? When people do things like what? Like taking the initiative in what could have turned out to be Armageddon. Ahhh, I love how we are so worried about the jots and the tittles in church life. Can you imagine the prophets and presidents of old (or new for that matter) taking issue with a filled out, “non-official” sign-up list? Maybe, but that was just amazing to me. It wasn’t like I was going to ask people in the foyer to sign a petition to make Stephanie Meyer an honorary member of the Quorum of the Seventy.
I laughed out loud to his comment, thanked Galactica Guy and scurried back to the foyer. I had to forget about him and his technotronic rigidity to protocol. Since I had been gone, at least two new faces appeared. Now came the moment of truth. With a rolled up Ensign in one sweaty hand, a pen and paper in the other, I walked slowly but steadily to the center of the foyer. Eyes pierced me with all the suspicion a roomful of anxious and guarded members could muster. For a split second I thought about capitulating, slowly retreating from whence I came, finding the place on the wall that had undoubtedly been overtaken by a newcomer. Then I saw the baby in the SUV-car seat and my resolved strengthened. I spoke up.
“I figure that since we still have ten minutes left before the stake opens their doors, we can start an ad-hoc sign up list.” For a couple of long drawn-out seconds, no one said anything. I felt like Napoleon Dynamite at the end of his “Vote for Pedro” routine. Crickets chirped with nay a seagull in sight. Then quietly a voice behind me spoke up. It belonged to an older woman of about 75 years. She kindly asked me if I was the Stake Executive Secretary. All eyes were on me like Pizza on the day before Fast Sunday. I responded to her that, no, I was “just a rogue lay member concerned by both the number of people here and the order in which the stake presidency calls us in for interviews.” A sign of ease visibly came over her face. She thanked me and told me it was a wonderful idea. It was as if her “approval” of the list allowed others to speak up. The floodgates opened and the list of names started flowing like the salmon of Capistrano. I made the list and honestly listed myself as #9.
About 10 minutes later, the stake president arrived at 7 pm sharp and with a bewildered look on his face, asked aloud with a smile crossing his face, “Do I dare ask who got here first?” I had placed the list on an end table in the foyer on which people could sign in once they arrived. Was he going to take the sign-up list, put a match to it, laughing in my face while everyone joined in? I made my way over to the list, showed it to him while explaining what had happened. You know what he said?
“That is great!”
So much for the list being shredded to pieces by the evil conspiring stake presidency. And with that, he called the first person back and I was out of there by 7:35. Not too bad. As a side note, the Stake Executive Secretary arrived at about 7:15 (!) wandered out to the middle of the foyer and asked, “Okay, who got here first?” I just shook my head. Of course he redeemed himself when one lady wanted to go early (before me) because she had to be leave at 7:30 pm. He stuck to his guns, asked her what number she was on my list (22) and told her they would try their best but they would have to go in order. Yes! Score one for Justice and Fairness in the World.
So that was my “debate” moment; stepping out of my comfort zone when I absolutely needed to, breaking down and repackaging my natural inclination for sideline observance. Zig Ziglar would be proud. I’m just glad I won’t have to go back for another two years. Maybe I’ll remember to take back the pen.
6 comments:
Interesting story...Q: when you introduced your list, were the people there honest about the order they got there?
Very uplifting story. I liked it.
Way to get the old lady vote. If you can get the elderly vote of confidence, everyone else has to either follow along or risk looking insincere.
And like you said, thank goodness for Zig Zigler. But don't forget to give props to Stephen Covey and Bo Jackson. We wouldn't be where we are without those tapes.
Yes, I believe the people that arrived before I did were indeed honest, as they quickly conversed amongst themselves at to who arrived first. As far as those who arrived after me, i was more or less a free-for-all, mostly because I wasn't as concerned once I wrote my name on there. Overall, though, I think most were considerate of others' arrival times.
That was an awesome story and so true to life. Plus, I laughed my head off. I am proud of you, Chad for getting way out of your comfort zone. I don't think I could have done that. I can just picture your hips swaying back and forth as you "did your thing". Way to go, dude.
Have Chad's hips ever really "swayed back and forth?"
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