It’s a ritual. Whenever I’m flying, I grab a latte before heading to my gate. I do this as an act of defiance as it’s pretty much a given that any plane in or out of Salt Lake is going to be filled with Mormons. It’s my style of wicked fun to drink in front of missionaries, general authority look alikes, their wives, and occasionally someone I know, just to observe their body language and response. Honestly, I wish I could report some ghastly behaviors, but by in large, they just ignore me. (Isn’t begin wicked supposed to be a bit more fun?)
In fact, yesterday I sat next to a young LDS couple who cracked me up about it. They were headed to Cairo. In talking about jet lag, I suggested taking a Tylenol PM when changing planes in NYC, sleeping as much as possible on the 10-hour flight, and then grabbing a big cup of coffee when they woke up.
“Sorry, I forgot, coffee’s not really an option for you.” “What would make you think that?” “Well, you’re Mormon.” “What would make you assume we’re Mormon?” “Takes one to know one.”
After outing myself, he good-naturedly handed me an “Ensign” magazine (the church’s publication) to read. I parried by handing him my coffee cup. (I didn’t have the heart to tell him he didn’t need the Tylenol PM. The “Ensign” works just a well.)