The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance: A Memoir Read Online Free PDF Page A

laminated piece of paper with a safety pin glued to the back of it. When I turned it around I saw it said, “Bob Barnett—7-Eleven Convention.” Immediately I thought: YES!
    I pinned the badge to my male friend’s shirt and we left breakfast in search of the 7-Eleven convention. A sign in the lobby directed us to the banquet hall and a huge banner reading 75 YEARS OF 7-ELEVEN.
    We walked into the banquet hall. Inside, we met Suzie and her husband from Rhode Island. We met Phil from Connecticut. And while my friends collected as many trinkets as they could, I met Carol, the woman who had organized the whole event. We got to talking, and Carol, who had obviously worked very hard, asked me for my feedback on that week’s events. “I go to conventions all the time,” I answered, “and this is the best convention I’ve ever been to.”
    Carol’s face lit up. “Did you need tickets for today’s events?” she asked.
    “Yes,” I answered, careful not to sound too eager.
    Carol reached inside a manila envelope, fished through a few papers, and pulled out four tickets to Radio City Music Hall, four tickets for a bus tour of Manhattan, and four tickets to Madame Tussauds. She handed them to me and then asked, “Will I be seeing you on tonight’s cruise?”
    “YES,” I said, louder than I’d expected to.
    And then I waited, eyes wide, for Carol to offer me tickets. When she didn’t, I added, “You know, Carol, I sent all my paperwork in for the cruise, and I never got anything back.”
    “What?!” Carol answered, visibly shocked. Then she held her hand to her chest and said, apologetically, “Just wait here one moment.”
    I watched as she scurried across the room. Left alone, I started to have second thoughts. I looked down at the embroidered carpet. There were so many things that could go wrong. Carol could ask me for my name, or she could ask who my boss was. What if the real Bob Barnett turned the corner, demanding his badge?
    When I looked back up Carol was walking briskly toward me.
    “I am so sorry about that!” She stuck her hand out, and handed me four tickets. I read the ticket stub: The Spirit of New York Harbor Cruise and Dinner . I looked at the price; each ticket was worth $150. “YES!” I said.
    That night my three friends and I got all dressed up, took a cab to Pier 26, and walked across a long wooden platform to the Spirit of New York ship. I handed someone our tickets and we were escorted into a room filled with chatter. There were at least five hundred 7-Eleven employees, my friends, and me. We started mingling. I didn’t make up a pseudonym or job. When people asked me what I did for 7-Eleven, I’d casually answer, “Come on, man, leave work at work. We’re here to have fun!”
    After about an hour of mingling, a man in a tuxedo rang a bell, and everyone sat down at three long tables. Waiters entered with silver trays. My waiter asked me in a polite voice if I wanted fish or steak. I felt like I was a dignitary, and this amused me. I wanted to whisper to him, “I’m just an actor, same as you.”
    Dish by dish the waiters served us a four-course meal. At the end of the dinner, one of my friends turned to me and said, “Elna, I dare you to make a toast.”
    I couldn’t help it. “YES,” I said, nodding my head with approval. I held on to the stem of my wineglass and lifted it into the air. But I don’t drink and I’d never made a toast before so I had no idea how to go about it. With my glass in one hand, and my knife in the other, I made the sound tink, tink, tink.
    Everyone shut up. I was surprised. Who knew the glass and knife combo had such power? I looked out at the crowd. I hadn’t exactly thought through my toast, but I was driven by a force far greater than my hesitation—the desire to pull off the impossible.
    “I’d like to make a toast,” I began. “To 7-Eleven, for redefining convenience.”
    I raised my glass in the air. For a moment there was silence. I looked