(no subject)
So, uh, I had a run-in with some Scientologists today. They were doing their “free stress test”, and in my mission to investigate every crackpot who distributes information in a T station, I accepted. (This mission has gotten me some quality things, including an argument about Thomas Jefferson with the leader of the Young Communist Party, a flier about how the Japanese have impregnated a mouse via another female mouse and lesbian procreation is only a step away, the infamous Wild Animus, and an informative pamphlet about Dick Cheney’s army of spoonbenders). I went in intending to be minorly truthful just to see how it worked, but then this happened.
Them: “What’s your name?”
Me: No way am I giving them that, they’re writing that shit down. “Uh, Anar.”
And it really just went down (or up, depending on your perspective) hill from there. I told them all about my brother’s recent breakup with his fiance (names lifted from two of my childhood friends), my life as a physics major at MIT hoping to work for NASA, how my job as a research assistant was stressing me out because I kept having to pull all-nighters in the lab (this lifted from an ex-roommate), and how it was really hard for me to find a migraine medicine that worked. My “life” was so dramatic because every time the dude asked a question the needle on the “stress meter” would shoot to the farthest setting, and he’d be all “Oh, wow, I guess you really have something on your mind! What’s going on?” I have a feeling that the way the machine “reads your stress” is via the sweat on your palms, which was probably increasing dramatically because I was about to lie my ass off. I would really love to get one of those machines in private and fiddle around with it. There were a bunch of knobs and readouts that he kept checking, and in retrospect I wish I had asked him what they were. Also, if I have opportunity to do this again, I’m totally going to tell them I have mental health issues and see how they react.
Anyway, I came away with a free Dianetics DVD to add to my collection of crazy stuff from crazy people in T stations.
Them: “What’s your name?”
Me: No way am I giving them that, they’re writing that shit down. “Uh, Anar.”
And it really just went down (or up, depending on your perspective) hill from there. I told them all about my brother’s recent breakup with his fiance (names lifted from two of my childhood friends), my life as a physics major at MIT hoping to work for NASA, how my job as a research assistant was stressing me out because I kept having to pull all-nighters in the lab (this lifted from an ex-roommate), and how it was really hard for me to find a migraine medicine that worked. My “life” was so dramatic because every time the dude asked a question the needle on the “stress meter” would shoot to the farthest setting, and he’d be all “Oh, wow, I guess you really have something on your mind! What’s going on?” I have a feeling that the way the machine “reads your stress” is via the sweat on your palms, which was probably increasing dramatically because I was about to lie my ass off. I would really love to get one of those machines in private and fiddle around with it. There were a bunch of knobs and readouts that he kept checking, and in retrospect I wish I had asked him what they were. Also, if I have opportunity to do this again, I’m totally going to tell them I have mental health issues and see how they react.
Anyway, I came away with a free Dianetics DVD to add to my collection of crazy stuff from crazy people in T stations.