I encountered a lone Scientologist in the 42nd street subway station recently.  

I was walking through the tunnel that connects Port Authority to Times Square when I first saw him: a candy-cane-shaped old man in formal attire handing out tickets to some event. Curious, I approached him and asked what the tickets were for. He said they were for a movie playing in the Dianetics Center on Sunday, Dianetics Part 1! If you don’t know, the Dianetics Center is the Church of Scientology in New York City.  

I got two tickets. One for me and one for my best friend, Stanley Yelnats. Together, we were going to infiltrate the Church of Scientology.  

(Important interruption: we had no interest in becoming Scientologists before, during, or after our visit. This was an adventure for the heck of it. Building “dad lore” if you will.) 

Sunday arrived with excitement and anxiety. The main problem was that we were unsure whether or not we’d be asked to disclose any personal information as a condition of entry. Giving personal information to the Church of Scientology is generally a bad idea. They’ve been known to overwhelm people’s digital and physical mailboxes with promotional material after being given as little information as their name. It’s kind of like a spam life sentence. We were also scared of what they would do if they found out we weren’t really interested in joining their organization. Would they get aggressive upon discovering we were only there to get a story out of it? 

Because of these concerns, Stan made it clear he wanted to do all the talking. Venturing into unknown territory was nerve-inducing and he, believing himself the unflappable one, was going to take charge. Lest we be found out. 

We walked down 46th Street. Dozens of duplicate tickets (the same as ours) laid flat and wet on the sidewalk, eerily highlighting a path toward the Dianetics Center. We were left wondering what happened to their owners. The trail of tickets stopped sharply in front of our destination. An awning with the words, “CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY OF NEW YORK” sprouted out of a gray edifice. Bright lights blinded from behind a revolving glass door.  

As I pushed forward to enter, I felt Stanley’s shaky hand land on my left shoulder. He ordered me to do all of the talking.  

We were greeted by a younger gentleman named Alex. Alex requested our tickets and we cooperated. He then produced a clipboard and asked for our full names. Bad news. Luckily Stan and I both thought of the same simple solution. 

From this point forward I was “Shade, John” and Stan was “Yelnats, Stanley.” (I’ve recycled my friend’s old pseudonym here in order to conceal his identity. He’s “camera shy.” See: https://holes.fandom.com/wiki/Caveman_(Stanley_Yelnats_IV)) 

Alex returned the clipboard to its original resting place. We were then led up a short flight of stairs and handed off to Shelbey. Shelbey had a disconcerting politeness to her, like she was being held at gunpoint. Shelbey began to lead us to the theater where the film was being shown, but not before asking our names. Stanley said “Stan” like a normal human being. I said, “John Shade” like I was stating it for the record. Fortunately, Shelbey just thought I was a weirdo and smiled at me with confusion. We arrived at the theater, if you could call it that. 

The ticket made it seem like a much cooler affair than it actually ended up being. I was envisioning a medium-sized theater filled up with Scientology cuckoos. We’d be chatting with the church regulars, getting to know their belief systems, family life, etc. It’d be my first ever Scientology meeting. Maybe even Tom Cruise would be there.  

 Expectations were not met to say the least. For starters, we were the only ones in the theater. Secondly, the theater could only hold like eight seats and even that was probably unlawful. Stan and I sat in the front row of that dusty maroon closet while Shelbey just… lingered. We twiddled our thumbs while Shelbey sucked all the air out of the room. Eventually, inexplicably, she left. 

After a few minutes the lights began to dim. The TV mounted on the front wall lit up and the movie started. 

The movie, oddly enough, was pretty good. I was genuinely shocked by the gorgeous cinematography, uncut closeups, and bold directorial decisions. The artists who made the film seemed talented.  

The only problem was the script. The film centered around this concept called Dianetics, which essentially claims that all illness and injury is psychosomatic. L. Ron Hubbard invented it and cured many patients throughout the film using Dianetics. There’s one scene where a woman that Ron was helping exclaims, “Wow! I can’t believe all the cancer from my hand is gone! And it didn’t scar either! Dianetics is incredible!” Oscar-winning dialogue, so subtle. It’s maybe my favorite scene in anything ever.  

The film is mostly that for 30 minutes. Some interesting details Stan and I noticed were that Ron’s face is never shown and there was literally one black person in the whole film and he was an extra. 

I was kind of disappointed. It seemed like we got the Intro-to-Scientology treatment. I wanted them to tell me a story about a galactic despot named Xenu who decided 75 million years ago to kill a bunch of people by chaining them to volcanoes and dropping nuclear bombs on them (an actual thing in Scientology.) Instead I was shown a well-executed short film about the one therapist to rule them all. I felt robbed.  

I wish I had a better ending for you. We tried to get a tour of the building after, but the guides just seemed confused at our request. By the end we were throwing ourselves at the people we once feared, trying our hardest to get at least one worthwhile story out of this place. 

I’ll end this article with an open letter to the Church of Scientology. If you’re a Scientologist (or a film student) this is for you. 

Scientologists of America, tell me something crazy. I didn’t come to your Church to learn about how taking care of my mental health might help heal a broken foot. I was waiting for Shelbey’s weird behavior to be explained by something shocking. But no, I think Shelbey was just weird.

You guys were very hospitable, though, and have an incredible film department. Keep making movies, you’re good at it. 

Your friend, John Shade.