It probably started sometime during the first couple of weeks in Provo’s Language Training Mission (now the Missionary Training Center). Already stunned by my stay at the mission home in Salt Lake City, I started wondering about some of the people around me.
When I got to my LDS mission in Uruguay, the process continued through a series of district and zone leaders, and assistants to the president, who couldn’t seem to grasp that their elevated positions were no guarantee that they weren’t still fatheads.
If I had to pin it down to the last straw, it would be when I bumped into my Mormon stake president about a month or so after coming home from South America.