My first
Sunday here, I woke up feeling chipper and got ready for church especially carefully. This was my thought process:
Me: “Yay! Church is today! I get to make friends. I live in crummy graduate student
housing, but at least that means everyone in my ward will be my age! Yay!”
Then I got
to church and realized the building was enormous and I had no idea which of 18
chapels I was supposed to enter for sacrament meeting (slight exaggeration, there may be only 15).
So I did what any rational adult would do: I hid in the bathroom for a little bit.
While in the
bathroom, I met an overly friendly girl (side note: I don’t like it when people
talk to me in bathrooms. Even
people I know). Through her
aggressive friendliness, she figured out I was in her ward and helped me find
the chapel. I was grateful, and my
optimism about church returned.
Then this conversation happened:
Me: So, what
year of school is this for you?
Overly Friendly Girl, gesturing to herself and roommate: We’re freshmen.
Me,
unwilling to let my optimism die:
Freshmen in graduate school?
OFG: No,
like, we just graduated from high school.
Me, still
praying things will be okay: Are there very many freshmen in the
ward?
OFG: Yep,
pretty much everybody. We all live
in the dorms.
Me: …
Me, reeling: …
Me, still reeling: ...
Me, (internally) for the next three hours of church: How do I get out of this ward? How do I get out?
How do I get out? How do I get out? How do I get out?How do I get out?How
do I get out?How do I get out? How do I get out? How do I get out? How do I get out? HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?
WHERE IS THE ESCAPE HATCH!
WHERE IS THE ESCAPE HATCH!
Turns out
there is no escape hatch.
