Misson for a Missionary

When I asked for a bus ticket to Bahia Blanca, they looked at me blankly. Surely I must've meant Buenos Aires, right? The bus continues on to BA after BB, so I must be wrong. I actually had to talk them into giving me a ticket.

While waiting on line, I asked the people going to Bahia Blanca what fun things I could do for a day. No one had an answer better than "Walk around the mall?"

Upon arrival, I went around to the side of the bus to get my backpack out from under. The driver wouldnt give me my bag. He was convinced I was in the wrong city, I had to show him my ticket to prove it. He still didn't want to get it, just because it was buried at the bottom of the Buenos Aires pile. He just assumed backpack meant BA.

Walking into the bus terminal, the extremely white and sterile-looking terminal, I began to look around to see if they have an internet kiosk so I could look up the address I came to find. A helpful employee came up to me and asked me if I was looking for the bus to BA.

Clearly, there's a theme. People come to Bahia Blanca to live (or die), but not to visit. The city is big and pretty and full of all the movie theaters and municipal parks and McDonalds one could want. I'm sure its a great place to live, but there really is absolutely nothing to do in this city. So why am I here?

To answer this question, I'm going to have to rewind back to September and my whirlwind tour of the Southwest US. After Burning Man and after seeing Dave in Boise but before hitting up the national parks in southern Utah, I passed through Salt Lake City. The biggest tourist draw here is Temple Square. Working with Kyra, lodging with Kyra's family, I'd learned alot about Mormonism, and was curious enough (though not in a conversion sense) to visit their Ground Zero. In Temple Square is their large central temple, the namesake tabernacle of the famous Mormon Tabernacle Choir, an art museum, a family research library (to help baptize your dead ones... dont ask), a visitor's center, a missionary center (for doing God's Work), and lots and lots of office space (for doing God's Office Work).

Part of my reason to visit was curiosity. Partially it was to visit the family research library and see if I can trace my ancestors past Ellis Island (I could not). But in large part it was to fuck with the missionaries. To ask questions like "Why does God hate gay people?" and "If a guy gets a sex change to become a woman, then wants to marry a man, is that kosher?" (the answer to both: err, let me get back to you).

When I met the pretty young blonde servant of God, I didn't want to fuck with her. Well, not with anyway. Instead, I just struck up conversation. I told her about my travels in a bid to impress her. And that's where my misguided attempts to pick up a missionary fell flat.

"Oh, you're going to Argetina?! That's soo cool. My fiancee is serving a mission there!"

I was more confused than disappionted. "Wait, how old are you?" I asked. "Oh, I'm 19, but we've been dating since I was 14," she replied. "... and how old is he?" I followed up, afraid of what she'd say. But he was only 21, not 40-something.

I was prepared to move on, but she wasn't done. Instead, she reached into the folder she was holding, and pulled out a postcard-sized picture of the Temple at night, with some recruitment propoganda on the back. She pulled out a pen, and wrote on the back "Elder Drennan, Bahia Blanca. I <3 you".

"Can you give this to him?"

I stared at her for a few seconds, baffled. Was she serious? Where is Bahia Blanca? How big is Bahia Blanca? How am I going to find one starched-shirt white dude in a whole city? The request was so ridiculous, so absurd, what could she possibly expect me to say?

"Yeah, sure. No problem."

And really, it wasn't that hard. I know enough about the LDS structure that a brief internet search found the local stake, and the address for its mission office. After that, I just had to find the right time to go to Bahia Blanca. I could cut across after Mendoza, then bus down the east coast to Puerto Madryn to go whalewatching before getting to Ushuaia, or I could take a boat down the Chilean side, then bus up from Ushuaia through Puerto Madryn, too late to see whales, before stopping in BB on my way to BA. I made my fateful choice.

Fast forward to the Tuesday between Christmas and New Years. I took a taxi into town, walked to the square, into an internet cafe, and looked up the address. It was only 3 blocks from the square, a 5 minute walk. The office is on an upper floor of a pretty nondescript building. I ring the doorbell, with absolutely no expectation of what kind of reception awaits me. Will the man be excited to hear from the beau he hasn't seen in months? Or will he just think I'm a freak and shoo me off. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably pick the latter. I would meet myself and flee.

I was met with silence. No response. I rang again, but it was clear no one was inside. Perhaps they were out to lunch (at 10am?), so I sat in the doorway to wait for someone for return. Gave up on that after half an hour. Plan B.

Plan B was to return to the internet cafe, find the phone number for the mission, call them, and hope the doorbell was just broken, rather than the far more likely outcome of a voicemail.

To my surprise, someone picked up. It was a young American voice, clearly one of the missionaries. He explained to me the missionary office moved, to a place well out of walking distance. "Elder Drennan?" I asked hopefully. No, Elder Drennan has been moved to Mar del Plata, about 5 hours away.

Ok, time to move to Mar del Plata? It's on the way to BA... sort of. Its on the way in the same way that Chicago is on the way between St. Louis and New York. And I had no reason to go here except to deliver a postcard. Atleast Bahia Blanca had the excuse of being on the way. But I have a mission, and I went back to the bus station to find bus times to Mar del Plata.

As I found out, the bus to Mar del Plata was to leave in 10 minutes. I'd have to find Drennan today. I called the mission office back in a hurry, and gave them the excuse that I want to go scuba diving in Plata (a mediocre place to do it), and that I'll still be able to deliver my package in person. The missionary on the phone, who was skeptical when I first explained to him I had something to give Drennen, now sounded like he was ready to call the cops. I didn't blame him. He told me that they don't give out a missionary's address, and since Mar del Plata doesnt have a missionary office, I'd have to either find him on the street, or wait until Sunday and guess which chuch he'll attend.

So I did the only rational thing, and gave up. Got on the next bus to BA. I'm not going to bust my balls for a cute girl who isnt even single and her stranger fiancee. Instead, I wrote a very sweet and hokey letter about how far the postcard has come, and how I've persisted because her feelings were so radiant and genuine when I met her, and mailed it with the postcard to the missionary office. Frankly, I don't remember if she was radiant or genuine. I remember she was blonde and bubbly, but that's about it. I just wanted a cool story, and to see the completely flabbergasted look on the man's face.

I only got half.