IN a bid to reassure the Irish public that investigative journalism you can trust and rely on is alive and well, we sent our reporter Timothy Ferris, who is in bad need of a scoop or he’s fired, to the new Scientology centre in Firhouse, Dublin.
Shit, shit, shit it’s 9.37am, a full 37 minutes later than I was expected to attend the crown jewel in Scientology’s Irish operations. No need to panic though, I entered the front door, noting how much it looked like a conventional door, just like the very ones you might use. It was almost too normal a door. My suspicions had been raised immediately. A private tour of the facilities seemed like an attempt to give them an easy promotion, something I was intent on not granting them.
The Scientologist who greeted me, possessed an eerily human like quality. It gave me pause for thought, could normal humans like you or I be just as likely to fall into a crazed cult? “No, thank Christ,” I muttered to myself as I clung tightly to the cross necklace I wore around my neck. This place gave me the creeps.
I began to loosen up once we sparked a conversation about Xenu and how the world was populated by strange lizard people, you know, just normal Scientology talk.
With ever present smiles, and a warm demeanour, this Scientologist was a million miles away from my stern and angry boss whose last words to me were ‘shit all over those Scientology weirdos or you’re out of here’.
Chad, the local Irish Scientologist with an American accent, was kind and softly spoken. He didn’t shout at me and threaten to fire me. No, within this vast facility which was empty except for the two of us if you don’t count the weeping woman chained to the floor scrubbing the walls, he asked about me.
“Who’s the real Timothy?” Chad asked. I was floored. Chad really got me, the stress and pressure I was under and how I felt maybe my life wasn’t going in a direction I wanted. This wasn’t anything like the rumours I’d heard, of how Scientology pick on the lost and the vulnerable. I felt so annoyed for believing that nonsense, I wanted to apologise to Chad, but frankly he was just so interested in me, asking question after question I couldn’t get the words out, plus we were occasionally interrupted by someone emerging from a secret basement, attempting to flee their captors.
“Are you secretly gay like John Travolta?” Chad asked me, in what he was now calling my ‘auditing’ session, but this was nothing serious, I may have signed a billion year contract signing my life away to Scientology but I wasn’t joining Scientology or anything.
Once I had told Chad all my deepest and darkness secrets, even the one about the time I ate my own poo to survive while stuck in a lift for 46 minutes, he stored them away on a recording, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. He promised he’d never tell anyone or use it as blackmail, which I thought was a bit weird for a new best friend to say.
I had come here for a scoop to save me from the sack, but what I got was a lifelong friendship with Chad. And yes, I decided to cut off all contact with my family henceforth, and change my will so the Church of Scientology got everything, and sure I said I’d see about writing inclusively pro-Scientology articles for this publication but I just have to laugh at the misconceptions people have of Scientology.
Ha, people think they believe in mad space Gods and that everyone is a secret lizard person. Hahahaha, wrong! They KNOW the world is full of secret lizard people, you idiot!