When my son entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo two weeks ago, he had one large piece of luggage with wheels and various smaller bags. What he needed was a second large bag to make things easier. I told him not to worry about it; I would get a large bag for him and bring it over for him to consolidate.

And so on Thursday I went shopping. I found the right bag and headed over to the MTC to drop it off. Knowing that I was about to approach a hardened security zone, I thought it wise to call my neighbor who knew the intricacies of the place.

No problem, I was informed. This is a necessity. When you’re dropping off a necessity they’ll let you in, and you can leave it at the front desk.

Wow, this was going to be easy. So I pulled into the MTC driveway and headed for the guard booth.

“I’ve got this bag I need to drop off for my son,” I told the guard. “It’s a necessity.” The guard seemed to understand but wanted to make sure.

“What is it again, sir?”

“A bag. A piece of luggage.”

“What’s your name, sir?” I gave him my name. “One moment, please.”

He picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. “Are you expecting a Randy Wright to drop off a bag for his son?” Of course they weren’t; this was impromptu. The guard seemed to be talking for a long time, and so I thought it was a good idea to remind him: “It’s a NECESSITY.”

Eventually, he hung up and turned back to me. “You say you have a bag?” “Yes.” “What’s in the bag?” “Uh, well, nothing. It’s just an empty bag. A piece of luggage that my son needs.” “You say it’s empty?” “YES, IT’S EMPTY.”

“I see. OK. Sorry. It’s just that we have people who try to sneak treats in to their missionaries. You can proceed to the awning and take it inside.”

The barricade arm rose, and into the high-security compound I went. I took the bag inside, where a woman at the front desk looked askance at me. “May I help you?”

“Yes. You see I have this bag for my son. It’s a NECESSITY.”

“Uh huh,” she replied. “Just a bag?”

“Yes, it’s just a bag. A piece of luggage.”

Drilling me with a cold stare, she asked: “What’s in the bag?”

“Nothing. It’s just an EMPTY BAG. See?” I said, holding it up for her to examine.

“It’s empty?”

“Yes, it’s empty!”

“I see,” she said, softening a little. “Sorry. It’s just that we have people who try to sneak treats in to their missionaries.”

I handed her the bag and thanked her, and then I got out of there as fast as I could, before a full body search could be undertaken to discover treats on my person. I’m pretty sure somebody went through all the pockets of the new bag looking for contraband.

As I departed, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the good old days when people were expected to sneak treats in to their missionaries. What happened to throwing pizza over the MTC fence? Somehow it was more fun back then.

Nowadays, you can send your missionary a treat via the U.S. Mail or one of those same-day MTC delivery outfits. That way you will not break any rules.

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