Breaking the Dress Code

I’ve never understood dress codes. My first job out of college required I wear dress pants, a long sleeve shirt and tie to work each day. At a company training seminar I asked for clarification concerning the dress code and was told it was for my own good. If I dressed up I’d magically treat customers better and "feel" better about myself.

What a total crock! I was just out of college so the brain washing effects hadn’t fully worn off but I knew it was corporate speak back then just as I do today. I believe that I’m more likely to treat coworkers, managers, and customers better if I’m wearing comfortable clothing. That doesn’t mean I should come into work sporting a tank and Speedo. But I should have some level of control over what I wear.

I think my sentiments on this topic stem from an experience I had at the Mission Training Center in Provo when I was 19-years old. I’d been called to serve a mission in Germany and was sent to the MTC for two months to learn some German and hopefully pickup enough church doctrine that I wouldn’t go off to foreign soil and teach false doctrine.

At the MTC one must follow a very strict schedule and dress code. The dress code was quite simple: a dark suit, white shirt and tie must be worn at all times. The only exceptions were during exercise, showering and sleeping. I hadn’t been at the MTC for more than a couple of weeks when I started to feel like clone. I was losing my identity and my personality. I was tired of feeling like a Book of Mormon carrying robot. I had to do something.

That something included stretching the rules a bit. I decided to wear a dark red paisley bow tie to class one morning. As I stood in the breakfast line a number of missionaries in my group thought the bow tie was cool but warned me they weren’t allowed. I didn’t think much of it as I finished my breakfast and ran off to class.

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In class, we sang, and prayed and sang some more before the German language teacher looked at me and suddenly stopped lecturing. He grabbed two chairs, walked to the door and said, "Elder Nordquist, please follow me".

I walked out of class and sat across from my teacher. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there and stared at me and then my tie. I didn’t know what to say. Finally he asked if I understood why he called me out of class. I told him it probably had something to do with my new tie. More silence. Although we’d gotten along well up to this point it was clear he was disgusted with me. I’d let him down by wearing a devilish bow tie.

I tried to explain that the bow tie has long been considered a formal accessory to a man’s attire. But he was having none of it and shot back that I was intentionally breaking MTC rules. I couldn’t believe how angry he was. At one point I thought he would reach over and yank the bow tie off my neck. Or strangle me. One of the two.

He sent me back to my dorm room for the day. To make matters worse a fellow missionary who was assigned as my companion was also called out to the hall to explain why he’d allowed me to wear the bow tie to breakfast. I guess he was expected to physically stop me from wearing it if that’s what it came to. So the both of us were sent back to our dorm to "think about our actions".

On the way back to our dorm I stopped by the mailroom to pickup a package from my parents. Back at the dorm I opened the box to find a huge bag of Cap’N Crunch Berries cereal. So for the next six hours we munched on handfuls of my favorite cereal.

And since it was my own bag I could pick out a handful of berries without offending my sisters. But my bow tie wearing days at the MTC had come to an abrupt halt.

But I still think, at least for one day, I was the most stylish looking missionary at the MTC.

Attempting To Convert Some Germans

Many years ago, I served a two year LDS mission to Germany. I realized today that I’ve not written much about the experiences I had during those years and then it hit me why: IT WOULD BORE YOU TO DEATH.

It’s not very interesting hearing how a church plunks young 19-year old kids into a different country and sets them off to convert a group of people who believe that church is something to attend on Easter and Christmas Eve. Telling these people that, in order to join my church, all they need to do is:

  1. Attend church every week for 3 hours
  2. Tithe 10% of your income to the church
  3. Stop drinking beer

The first two on the list are difficult but not impossible.

But #3 is a deal breaker.

Try telling a German he can’t drink beer anymore and see how well that goes over. Might as well tell him to stop breathing air. That would be the equivalent of banning SportsCenter, Scooby Doo and Days of Our Lives in our home. There’s no way that’s happening. Game over.

Trying to convert people to a religion that requires a good deal of participation is a difficult prospect. Add to that that most Germans had only heard of Mormons in conjunction with plural marriage or Donny Osmond and you have all the ingredients for an entertaining discussion.

On more than one occasion we’d find someone who appeared interested in our teachings and was progressing towards baptism. That is, until we told him that plural marriage was banned in 1890. The idea of having more than one wife was something these guys could get excited about, and we dashed their hopes as quickly as you could say “Oh Heck”.

Most days on a mission consist of attempting to talk to people who don’t want to hear what you have to say and handing out books nobody wants to read. And riding a nerdy looking bike with a ringer bell on the front and a wire basket on the back. It’s a miracle I didn’t get my butt kicked riding this embarrassment around town. This bike was so bad that it was stolen one night and returned two days later. Even a bike thief couldn’t be seen on this clunker.

I’ve had many years to think about what I learned during those years spent in Germany. I’ve come to the conclusion that, more than anything, I learned to handle rejection. I’d speak to dozens of Germans telling me I’m an idiot for spending my own (ok, my parents) money to come to their country and teach them about a tiny, US based religion. 

And yet I did it. And not only did I do it for two years, I was happy to do it. At least most of the time. I got spit on a few times and had a few beer bottles tossed my way. But nearly all the Germans I met were very kind. Even those that called me crazy for thinking I could convert them told me they respected my conviction in my beliefs.

So next time you see those crazy guys riding bikes while wearing dark suits in the hot weather, give them a break and don’t make fun of them. They’ve probably had 50 doors slammed in their face that day and will be thrilled to to be acknowledged by your wave or smile compared to other gestures they regularly see.

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