Daniel C. Peterson had spent four days waiting at the Grand America Hotel in Salt Lake City when the concierge finally called up to his room to let him know his ride had arrived.
Daniel C. Peterson expected to see a chauffeured limo or at least a town car, but his ride turned out to be an ordinary cab driven by an ordinary cabbie.
Well, the cab was ordinary, but the cabbie who was loading his suitcase into the trunk, appeared to be at least ten feet tall. He had the look of a prize fighter, wore a snake skin vest and had large mirrored sunglasses where his eyes should have been.
Daniel C. Peterson got in and handed the cab driver a piece of hotel stationary with the address of his destination. The cabbie nodded, folded himself into the driver’s seat, and eased the cab out into the afternoon sun bathing South Main Street.
Daniel C. Peterson tried to make small talk about the weather, BYU sports, and the past General Conference, but the cabbie was having none of it and they drove slowly north on Interstate 15 for hours in silence. Daniel C. Peterson discerned that the cab driver was most probably a Jack-Mormon with an extremely weak or non-existent testimony. Even he, Daniel C. Peterson, couldn’t reach everyone.
As the miles and the silence wore on, Daniel C. Peterson found himself being lulled to sleep by the drone of the engine and the gentle rocking of the car.
Daniel C. Peterson closed his eyes and thought of his old friend Stephen D. Ricks. He thought of how Steve liked to say, “Dan, always remember the driver’s name in case you forget something in the cab.”
Before completely giving himself over to sleep, Daniel C. Peterson opened one eye just enough to read the name plaque mounted on the dash.
Peterson paused, wondering to himself why that particular name sounded so ominous to him. Was the Spirit™ trying to make a statement? He finally shook his head and let it go. He was a tired man, exhausted from his hard work. He failed to notice the eyes studying him coolly in the rear-view mirror as his head slowly leaned backward. With a few heavy sighs, he finally dozed, then sank into sleep.
The cabbie drove around for a few minutes and then pulled up to a great and spacious building."o.k. Peterson this is your destination". Peterson didn't know if he was still dreaming or if this was really happening. The building seemed familiar but upon entering he had a sense of not belonging. He heard loud laughter and followed the sound to a large room. Inside , people were laughing, drinking beer, not wearing garments and enjoying each other's company. "Am I in Hell" he asked aloud" "NO" answered a distinct voice, "You're at the ex-mo conference".........