The first thing you do before your mission is travel to the heart of Mormonism: Utah. That's right: three straight uncut weeks of wacky Utah shenanigans, like "parking" and "waving hello." The Missionary Training Center is in Provo, and it's the friendliest penitentiary on Earth. But like any prison worth its salt, life is extremely regimented -- it's just that the hours normally spent making license plates and pruno are instead replaced with daily 10-hour Bible study sessions.



And Mormon pruno, which is actually stale Sunny Delight.

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The whole thing is divided up like the underclass in some dystopian sci-fi world -- we're separated into wards, zones, and then six-man districts. You don't associate with anyone outside your zone while you're training. Every missionary has to be in sight of their companion at all times. For two solid years, our only alone time was in the bathroom. Do not, under any circumstances, picture the state of that bathroom.

You can't leave the training center, you can't read outside writings, and you have no contact with anyone of the opposite sex. No real socializing is allowed. I remember one time we started a snowball fight at lunch. The next day, the president of the Missionary Training Center gave a lecture about how we weren't there to throw snowballs. (Apparently, God makes snowballs so much fun purely to test our resolve.) It's pretty much like The Hunger Games, only instead of learning awesome survival skills, you learn the Bible. And instead of earning your freedom, you pay about the price of a decent used Camry. That's right: You're not paid for it, you pay for it. The whole mission can cost between $10,000 and 12,000.