Who are you? A Day as a Missionary.

Have you ever slammed the door after you saw a missionary knocked on it, or pretended you weren't home? Being a missionary is hard work. They are yelled at, laughed at, and are the victims of pranks all for no monetary pay, only faith. Here you will find what goes on for a missionary.

The bright sun is blazing overhead and three smiling women are walking down the street, door to door, discussing their church with the wary occupants. They are all very different; one is a grinning, willowy redhead, put together and shining with excitement, another an awkward dirty blonde, her clothes and glasses askew an example of the mind inside, and the last a half-Armenian who looks more like Belle from Beauty and the Beast than Kim Kardashian. They are all wearing skirts and have black tags on their blouses with their names and the name of their church on it. When they feel a cool breeze one sighs, face flushed red with the heat. They knock on an intense red door, the veteran brunette hardly says, "Hello we are missionaries from-", before the door slams in their faces. "You get the next one," she groans shortly.

Their feet are on fire, marching an hour straight, it feels as though their soles will melt into the boiling pavement. The next door they rap on is home to an older African-American man. He stares at them and asks what they want. This time the beaming blonde begins, "We are missionaries from-", she almost pauses, expecting another slammed door, but he smiles and nods, listening to their words. They shake his rough, weathered hand, introducing each other. During a pause he tells them how excited he is "that young people are spreading the word." The sun seems to shine brighter, the birds seem to sing sweeter, and wind sways branches gently.

But it all comes crashing down when he finds out they are 'Mormons'. His smile disappears faster than water in a desert. "Oh, you are one of those," he grumbles. This happens too often for two of the three ladies is even flinch, but the 'greenie', the new missionary from Utah, is gaping. She shakes her radiantly red hair and closes her mouth. A whole afternoon of knocking on doors follows, "Don't you believe in another bible?" No. "Don't you worship ol' Joe Smith?" No. "Do you have five moms?" No. "Do y'all believe we are descendants of lizard people?" Wait… what!?

An undignified giggle escapes the trio as they knock the solid, smooth door of the next house, with an overgrown garden and dark green door. It is obvious someone is home as they just peeked through the window, like a victim in a horror movie, but did that mean they were the serial killers? The young women glace at each other and grin while the blonde says loudly, "no one here to practice satanic rituals on?"

This house is the last on the winding street so they stroll back to their car, drinking some cool, sweet water. Being a missionary is hard work, tomorrow another street with more faces and questions. Yet the ladies smile and continue on, with faith.

Authors Note: I am the dirty blonde in this and I am technically not a full-time missionary, but I thought it'd be confusing to explain. This was for english class, a descriptive essay on a moment that is present and repeatable. Anyway, thanks for reading, did you like it, hate it?