Chapter VII: Leaving The Mormon Roommates (Part I)

Theirs was a by-golly dialect dusted off from 1950s Pleasantville Americana. A simpler language from a simpler time where everyone was white, everyone wore plaid, and everyone was in bed by nine. It is best imagined in black and white crackling, grainy footage. Best listened to with the Andy Griffith theme song:

Mitt Romney’s gaffes were no accident. “Binders full of women”, “The trees are Michigan are just the right height”—the tell-tale signs of a Mormon speaker simply out of things to say. Mormons make for eloquent speakers, owing to years of public speaking in the church, sure. But Mormons make for not-so-eloquent conversationalists, owing to years of public speaking in the church.

They are the sort of people who still quote State Farm “Discount Double Check” insurance commercials. They are the sort of people who laugh for a little too hard for a little too long at CBS sitcom promos. And they are the sort of people who render pop cultural references unreferenceable. Who render small talk even smaller:

“Do you think you’ll see The Immortals movie?” I grasped at straws during the slash-’em, mash-’em DVD ad.

“Daaang dude, I don’t think so,” Devin shook his head. “I’m gonna wait till it comes out on cable. That way all the naughty words will be bleeped out.”

And so it was. An awkward seven months of disjointed, fragmented conversations, Hannah Montana reruns, and a pantry ever-overflowing with Skittles.

That was until the Summer of 2012. That endless season of Carly Rae Jepsen “Call Me Maybe” covers, Greek sovereignty crisis headlines, and Team USA golds in London.

And, within Willowbrook Condominiums Apartment 4A, that endless season when Russell saw his first PG-13 movie, Devin got a girlfriend, and I stopped caring.

Please check back for Part II: When Russell Saw His First PG-13 Movie.