I probably shouldn't be telling this story, since technically it is not mine to tell, but it happens to be way toooooo good to pass up so I'll try and tell it anyway. I'll begin with the moral of the story first: Don't get suckered into taking a stress test. I don't care how cute the girl is. I don't care if beer shoots out of her nipples, it's not worth it. The cute girl will not sleep with you. No lap dances will be involved. Hell she won't even administer the stress test herself. She'll pass you off to someone less attractive. You be stuck, holding onto an e-meter without so much as another word uttering from the cute girl's lips and you'll be talked into spending six bucks on Dianetics.
Apparantly, Fighting Nun had not known this. Apparantly Fighting Nun had to learn it the hard way, the hard way being he had to spend the six bucks on Dianetics and give them a false address in order to slip away early. The actual story of what tooked place in Scientology center, not mine to tell. I will set the stage a little, just to give the story context. So for a month or so now, I've been taking a class in San Francisco one night a week. That one night a week, Fighting Nun meets me up in the city and we drive back home together. He usually has a little time to kill before my class lets out, and last night he inadvertantly decided to kill that time by getting suckered into a stress test. I'll leave that up to Fighting Nun to recount, if he cares to. The merciless fun I made at his expense after the fact? Definately a story I can tell. The resulting dialog went something like this:
Bloody Munchkin: I can't believe you got suckered into a stress test.
Fighting Nun: The girl was cute.
BM: Cute enough to get yourself hooked up to an e-meter?
FN: Uh, she didn't even administer the stress test.
BM: You got bait and switched into taking a stress test? Ha! You fell for the oldest trick in the book. That's how they hook you in.
FN: Well it worked. I had thirty minutes to kill and they took all of it. All. Of. It.
BM: I believe it. I hear some of those stress tests take up to an hour, sometimes longer. I'm amazed you made it out unscathed.
FN: Uhm, I didn't. I had to buy the book.
BM: We own Dianetics now?
FN: We own Dianetics now... You know you can stop laughing. It's not that funny. I fully intend to read it, just to you know, be objective.
BM: You're actually going to read it?
FN: I dunno. I am interested in keeping an open mind about religions and stuff, even if this one happens to be kind of cultish.
BM: I give you the being open minded about religions and stuff, but damn. Please tell me you didn't give them our address.
FN: I gave them a fake one.
BM: Thank god, because the Mormons still haven't left us alone and if those two organizations showed up on our doorstep, we'd have a front row seat to an apocolyptic battle of stellar proportions.
And as we left the train station:
FN: Try not fall down the stairs this time. (O.k., this statement needs a little prefacing. So two of the last three times leaving the train station, I almost tripped down a flight of stairs, which gave Fighting Nun plenty more arsenal in the "I married a clutzy dork" artillery, which he's got a stock pile of weapons on already, not like he needed more, but I digress).
FN: Shut Up.
And later, on the drive home:
FN: Dude, why didn't I tell them I was already a member, like I was a high ranking part of their center? 'Yeah I'm like an... alpha-red member already... and stuff.'
BM: 'You're John Travolta?'
FN: 'Uh no. I'm.... his son. Yeah.... That's the ticket."
BM: Naw. You should said you were Danny Masterson's brother. They might've bought that.
FN: Who's Danny Masterson?
BM: The kid with the big fro on That 70's Show.
FN: That guy's a dork. He's a Scientologist? I don't want to be related to that guy. Next.
BM: O.k., you could've said you're Jenna Elfman's husband.
FN: The chick from Dharma and Greg? She's hot. O.k. That'll work. Lauren Graham isn't a Scientologist, is she?
BM: Not to my knowledge.
FN: Well, then I don't have to join then.
BM: Well that's a load off, now isn't it? I like how that might actually be a qualifying reason for you to join their religion, like it was also the reason for you take the stress test in the first place. Blindly lead into belief by some cute girl.
FN: Works for me.
BM: Heh. You bought Dianetics because a cute girl forced you to. Heh.
FN: I don't make fun of you for.... stuff.
BM: You make fun of me plenty. It's just that this incident is way funnier.
FN: It's not that funny.
BM: Tom Cruise has you on speed dial now.
FN: Stop it.
BM: Are you ready to accept Suri Cruise into your life as your personal savior?
FN: Quit it.
BM: Have you taken your vitamins yet?
FN: *Pouts lips* .... I... just...*pouts lips some more*
There was some bit about Paxil and Brooke Shields, but I can't remember it now. It was A material though, rest assured. I have a feeling that I'm going to use his adventure Xenu-land like Homer used Marge's gambling problem.
"Remember that time I sliced my finger open trying to peel a butternut squash and you laughed at me for like a few days afterward?"
"Well you took a stress test!"
"Remember that time you made fun falling down the stairs and bruising my butt?"
"Well yooouuu got sucked into a Scientology Center."
I'm going to have material for days and days. Now if you all will excuse me, I have to go craft some jokes involving John Travolta, Kelly Preston and something about Katie Holmes and a butterfly net, and then I have to call my lawyer to make sure Bert Fields hasn't issued any litigation threats...
*** Please note that I don't have anything against Scientology per say, I just found the whole thing rather amuzing. If Fighting Nun had somehow stumbled upon a Kabbalah center and was asked to buy a red string, rest assured that I'd be making jokes about Madonna, Britney Spears, and Tithing.