Blown for Good Behind the Iron Curtain of Scientology by Marc Headley Page B
Authors: Marc Headley
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of people came back in. If you were lucky, you would get dishes or clean-up; the one job you did not want to get in the galley was “potland.” Potland was an overflowing mountain of dirty pots that never diminished no matter how many people were assigned to clean them. The pots usually had nasty smelly things stuck to them, and they did not clean easily.
Now, I had never worked in food service before, but I knew that some things being done were not up to five-star qualities. One of the girls in the same unit as me, Heather Ashworth, was about eight years old. She was rather tiny, too small to stand next to the sink and wash pots—so she was in the sink washing the pots! Standing in the water with a scrub brush in hand cleaning the pots. I had never seen anything like it.
Never once did I see a single hair net, gloves or any kind of smock. Everyone had their standard issue blue shorts and t-shirts with their worn out black combat boots.
After spending the rest of the night in the galley, it was time for bed. As explained to me by my In-Charge, Bill, the EPF got to go to bed early so that study could be done in the morning, before a long day’s work. So we would be able to secure at 10:00 p.m. and be up at 6:30! I was like - what the hell are you talking about - early?
“Well almost everybody secures at 11:00 p.m. but we get to go early so we can get eight hours sleep to be studentable,” Bill said cheerily, as though we just won some kind of lottery.
“This is where the men’s showers for this floor are,” Bill pointed out as we walked by a set of swinging wood doors that looked as if they had been wet for 30 years.
Holy shit! I am in the army! Communal frickin’ showers for the entire floor!
We came to the room where the Estates Project Force males were housed. No sooner than we walked in the door, several EPFers were already racing towards the showers. Turns out that if you didn’t get in and shower quickly, you would not get one. The rest of the hundreds of crew members that worked at the Complex got off post shortly after we did and the showers, bathrooms, hallways would overflow with people. It was the last place you wanted to be, walking around half naked as the “new guy.” Valuable information to have, I thought, picturing myself walking half naked through all these serious Sea Org member types.
Before I could even crack a smile at the picture in my mind, I was taken to the room where I would be sleeping. It was about 25 feet long by 20 feet wide. It had at least 30 beds in it. Most were stacked at least two or three high. There were no dressers. There were only people’s bags and some personal items next to the bed on the floor or wedged into the bottom springs in the bed above. Yes - springs. These bunk beds must have been 30 years old. There were no mattresses here; these were steel frames with metal squeaky springs and three inch pads with the thinnest sheets and barely thicker blankets. No air conditioners, no heaters. A few oscillating fans that blew in air from outside so that there would be just enough oxygen to support life until morning. Of course, I was the new guy so I got the top bunk on a triple stacker. As much as I was interested in getting more familiar with the room and my new bed, I had to get a shower. I had at least two meals worth of greasy food water soaked into my hands and arms, and no matter how much I washed them off in the kitchen, the smell just stayed with me. I grabbed a towel and my toiletries and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Bill asked.
As the words reached my ears, I thought that either I am the smartest person here or this guy is the dumbest. Could not get enough of those dishes, figured I’d go down and dry a few more for morning, I thought, but answered, “To the showers.” Knowing that the latter would not get half as much of a laugh from the other EPFers, but I did not know these folks and wanted to play it cool.
“Not
Now, I had never worked in food service before, but I knew that some things being done were not up to five-star qualities. One of the girls in the same unit as me, Heather Ashworth, was about eight years old. She was rather tiny, too small to stand next to the sink and wash pots—so she was in the sink washing the pots! Standing in the water with a scrub brush in hand cleaning the pots. I had never seen anything like it.
Never once did I see a single hair net, gloves or any kind of smock. Everyone had their standard issue blue shorts and t-shirts with their worn out black combat boots.
After spending the rest of the night in the galley, it was time for bed. As explained to me by my In-Charge, Bill, the EPF got to go to bed early so that study could be done in the morning, before a long day’s work. So we would be able to secure at 10:00 p.m. and be up at 6:30! I was like - what the hell are you talking about - early?
“Well almost everybody secures at 11:00 p.m. but we get to go early so we can get eight hours sleep to be studentable,” Bill said cheerily, as though we just won some kind of lottery.
“This is where the men’s showers for this floor are,” Bill pointed out as we walked by a set of swinging wood doors that looked as if they had been wet for 30 years.
Holy shit! I am in the army! Communal frickin’ showers for the entire floor!
We came to the room where the Estates Project Force males were housed. No sooner than we walked in the door, several EPFers were already racing towards the showers. Turns out that if you didn’t get in and shower quickly, you would not get one. The rest of the hundreds of crew members that worked at the Complex got off post shortly after we did and the showers, bathrooms, hallways would overflow with people. It was the last place you wanted to be, walking around half naked as the “new guy.” Valuable information to have, I thought, picturing myself walking half naked through all these serious Sea Org member types.
Before I could even crack a smile at the picture in my mind, I was taken to the room where I would be sleeping. It was about 25 feet long by 20 feet wide. It had at least 30 beds in it. Most were stacked at least two or three high. There were no dressers. There were only people’s bags and some personal items next to the bed on the floor or wedged into the bottom springs in the bed above. Yes - springs. These bunk beds must have been 30 years old. There were no mattresses here; these were steel frames with metal squeaky springs and three inch pads with the thinnest sheets and barely thicker blankets. No air conditioners, no heaters. A few oscillating fans that blew in air from outside so that there would be just enough oxygen to support life until morning. Of course, I was the new guy so I got the top bunk on a triple stacker. As much as I was interested in getting more familiar with the room and my new bed, I had to get a shower. I had at least two meals worth of greasy food water soaked into my hands and arms, and no matter how much I washed them off in the kitchen, the smell just stayed with me. I grabbed a towel and my toiletries and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Bill asked.
As the words reached my ears, I thought that either I am the smartest person here or this guy is the dumbest. Could not get enough of those dishes, figured I’d go down and dry a few more for morning, I thought, but answered, “To the showers.” Knowing that the latter would not get half as much of a laugh from the other EPFers, but I did not know these folks and wanted to play it cool.
“Not
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