Lost in Translation

Mixed-Up Missionaries Get the Bejesus Scared Out of Them

The Night I Witnessed An Accidental Exorcism

I’ll never forget the night two overzealous young missionaries flirted with a premature trip to heaven.

I wasn’t embarrassed by my run-down apartment building when I first moved away from home. I was on my own. What could I expect?

I never expected that I’d witness two young missionaries getting their asses handed to them by two panicked International roommates.

I heard a knock and peeked outside. Instead, I saw two college-age students at their door. These two young women seemed like foreign exchange students.

This was the typical hallway exchange…

Me (bowing slightly): “Good evening, ladies!”

Them: (before slamming their door) “Thank you. Goodbye!”

Even though their grasp of English as a second language seemed iffy, they were skittishly polite.

So, they inched open their chain-locked door to face two Mormon missionaries.

White shirts. Black pants. I didn’t expect busboys to be going door to door.

Both young men made small “how are you?” small talk for a moment before one cleared his voice.

“Tell me, what would happen to you if you died tonight?”

The females inched their door closed, but they shouted:

“We do not want to die tonight. Do you have a gun?”

The second female begged, “Do not kill us!”

One missionary laughed nervously. Bad idea.

“Nooooooo!” the pair gasped.

The second stalwart male said, “Nothing’s going to happen to you, but if it did…”

“NOOOOOOO!” they repeated.

One young woman’s voice grew deeper. “We are calling the police. And we will fight you!”

I chickened out, not moving. I kept peeping through my door’s peek-hole. I did not want to be caught in a crossfire of confusion. Flying words aren’t as serious as bullets. However, I had no experience as a religion referee.

“I have a knife!” one woman called.

One elder grabbed the arm of his mission-mate. “Let’s get out of here. Run!”

His companion called, “God bless you. Goodbye!”

The bouncing sounds hinted to me that both men somersaulted down the flight of steps.

The two women threw their door open when they saw me.

“Are they gone? Be careful!” they warned.

Instead, I felt the missionaries should be warned. One woman held a butcher’s knife at her side. Her smaller friend needed two hands to hoist an iron frying pan.

“I am sorry. They were not wanting to kill you. They spoke bad English.”

The men wanted to know if you thought you’d go to heaven someday.”

“Not tonight,” began frying-pan lady. “We may after we are old and dead. Why ask now?”

I shook my head, wanting to apologize for the door-to-door preachers.

“They want converts to their religion. They want new believers.”

The neighbors placed their kitchen weapons at their feet. Then, they looked at each other and started to laugh.

“Welcome to America!” they giggled.

I nodded in agreement. “Only in America.”

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