Subject: Scientology and Me

By Kimmy Gatewood

Comedian, guitarist, and all-around cool girl at school: Kimmy G. takes us into a Scientology center and actually completes the personality test.

If you have an extra hour in New York and can't afford a Broadway show, there's one ticket that won't cost a thing: the Church of Scientology, on 46th and Broadway off luscious Times Square.

My curiosity had overtaken me. Raised an avid seasonal Catholic, I had always had 363 days of the year to be curious about my friends' religions. My best friend in middle school was a Jehovah's Witness. I went to bar mitzvahs, Indian weddings, Baptist sermons, Protestant Sunday school, and even to the Mormon holy land (where I learned the ways of fun without caffeine).

Scientology, however, was a mystery. I had only heard about it after sex-god-turned-freak (Kirk Cameron-style) John Travolta made Battlefield: Earth. On a whim, one February afternoon, I strolled into the Church of Scientology.

I walked through the double glass doors with the glamorous trademarked "Church of Scientology" logo hovering above. There was an older, well-dressed man standing at the front desk, welcoming me graciously. He asked if I wanted any brochures and I responded with an enthusiastic "Yes!" and claimed my first pieces of the puzzle. I was then escorted down a short set of stairs where I was told I just missed the informative movie, but instead could take a personality test until the next screening.

A personality test? I asked myself. Was this perhaps a Mensa-on-God-type religion? Was I going to be good enough for John Travolta? My curiosity grew stronger, since now there were qualifications involved. I was seated at a small wooden table. There were a few other people in the room, mostly eager Scientologists waiting to judge me. The room was sterile, painted white with low ceilings. The dominant presence was the rows of L. Ron Hubbard books, with corny sci-fi-like covers.

I was given a five-page test and a number two pencil. What a lucky break! A free pencil! The test instructed me to "answer each question as to how you feel right now." There was no box for "scared" or "cult," so I answered the questions the only way I knew how -- as psychotic as possible. Given the choice of "yes or mostly yes," "maybe or uncertain," and "no or mostly no" to questions like, "Do children bother you?" "Do you browse through railway timetables, directories, or dictionaries just for pleasure," I answered a firm "yes or mostly yes," complete with an exclamation point.

I had two questions to go out of the 200 when Bill, the man at the door, told me that it was my turn to see the movie. "What about my personality test?" I asked. He replied, "Well, we'll evaluate it and then you can have a conversation with one of our volunteer ministers after you're done."

"Great!" I exclaimed.

I was then escorted down a long hallway, where I saw four people coming out from the movie. They looked like they had either been a. enlightened, or b. brainwashed. A fine line, I suppose.

I sat down in the theater, by myself. There were about 12 seats, a projector, and suspicious black windows on each side. The movie began with impressive and undeniably cheesy '80s music with flashing lights. Warning: movie spoiler ahead.

The movie began giving a brief yet vague description of Scientology. It led us -- whoops, I mean me -- through the history, the locations, and where in each "org" (their religious headquarters) there's an empty office in honor of their late leader, L. Ron. However, their most important message was how I'm brainwashed by the government and how Scientology can help. It didn't explain exactly how it could help, but they said they definitely could. It was best summed up in the end:

"You can join us and follow the path to enlightenment, or you could leave here, let the door slam in ignorance [sorry], but that's just the way it is. You don't have to join [yeah, you could also jump off a bridge or blow your brains out], but that would be stupid, wouldn't it?" The end.

If you do nothing else in your life, you must see this movie. (Critic Kimmy Gatewood says, "I fell out of my seat laughing.")

I walked out of the theater and was taken to a volunteer minister. Aaron, my new guide, told me I needed to work on many aspects of my life, and the best way to start was to buy Book #1 for $25. He wanted my phone number to further discuss the results. I said I had to go.

I wish I could have told him that he was crazy and that this so-called religion scared the crap out of me, but I didn't. I simply walked out with my free stuff: brochures, pencil, and pride.

All in all, an evening well spent in my continual search to understand others. More important, a lesson well learned in celebrity-endorsed cults. You'll never get me, Travolta!

Kimmy Gatewood is a stand-up comic, improviser, and writer in a large city. You may find her at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater and in the touring company of Chicago City Limits. If you are John Travolta, try London.

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