Dulloldfart
Squirrel Extraordinaire
Edited slightly from my online October 2004 archived post at:
http://www.fzglobal.org/w040917-041116.htm#384
I was in the PAC RPF for several months in 1996. To start with, it was miserable indeed on a daily basis. There are different aspects to life in the RPF: sleeping and toilet/shower arrangements; work; eating; study.
In the RPF the main men's dorm contained about 45 men in three-high bunks, crammed together. There was just enough space between the bunks to stand. I was in a top bunk, with my head about six inches from a noisy ventilation outlet pipe.
Work was not fun. I was assigned to the "mudding" unit, the unit responsible for throwing up stud-and-track walls and plastering them. I wasn't very good at it at all, and it was very messy. The showers after work were OK, but at night there was one men's bathroom to use for about twenty guys at a time all trying to clean their teeth, use the toilet etc. at the same time. It was very degrading and dehumanizing. (I don't mean there was a long line of irritated people waiting to use the bathroom--we were all in there at the same time!)
The RPF food was the same as the rest of the crew, and was of reasonable quality, and decently prepared and presented. Eating it was a hassle, as the space was cramped and if someone walked by you had to shuffle your chair around to make room. With a hundred RPFers or so, there was a long chow line to actually get the food onto one's plate, so there wasn't much time to eat it. It was barely tolerable, but could have been worse.
A year ago I was reading about conditions in a US prison, and I was thinking how luxurious it sounded by comparison, in terms of freedom to make phone calls, etc. That's not the whole story, as I would fear for my life in a US prison, but didn't in the RPF.
Study was frustrating. The buzzword was working towards "Redemption". It went fine for a couple of weeks, then I went into session with my twin. My twin had a tight needle with a high TA and I was unable to overcome it. It was all my fault, of course, but I couldn't fix it. I'm not a wimpy kind of guy, but I was literally in tears several times over a couple of months, frustrated at making no progress.
All this changed radically the day after LRH's birthday, when I wrote a request to route out. I was assigned to the RPF's RPF, as was normal when an RPFer wanted to leave instead of being with the redemption program.
The RPF's RPF is supposed to be even more miserable than the RPF, but in my case everything was an immediate upgrade. There were only half a dozen or so of us, mostly girls, with myself and another guy being the only men. The other guy was Jamie Didcoate, 20 year-old son of ex-UK long-term SO members Richard and Kathy Didcoate, currently on the PAC RPF per RPF Insider. Since single men and women cannot share the same room, Jamie and I were the only people in the bedroom. Now, only two people in a room is a luxury I had not had in the previous 23 years in the SO! For most of the time I was in PAC I had been in a dorm in Lebanon Hall (room 617), initially with 8-11 other guys and then 5-8 after we tossed out one of the 3-bed bunks one day.
When I started there, the RPF's RPF ate before the regular RPF, but from the same food. We only had 20 minutes to eat instead of 30, but with no waiting this didn't add up to less time actually eating, and being there first we got the pick of the food, as much to eat of the best stuff as we wanted.
The work was hard and messy, but the person in charge of the RPF's RPF was Sylvia Crundall (earlier Grout, Collins), who I had known from the UK twenty years earlier. She was in-valence and a decent person, an auditor, unlike some of the sadists who had senior positions in the regular RPF. She wasn't soft, but she was fair.
We spent a day in the famous Rats' Alley once, which was memorable. It isn't an alley, but a space about 60 feet by 50 under the kitchens, with hot water pipes running through it so it was hot. The ceiling was about five feet high, but there were beams hanging down a foot or so and with the water-pipes that were too hot to touch you couldn't walk around in there, but got around lying face-down on makeshift wheeled boards. I didn't see any rats, but there were plenty of those giant cockroach-like creatures called "Palmetto Bugs". Palmetto Bugs are remarkable insects. One is two or three inches long, armored so it doesn't squish easily, and it can *fly* for God's sake! The day I was there, the walls of Rats Alley were full of them. When I say "full", I mean pretty much every available inch of wall-space was covered with them--there must have been tens of thousands of them. Fortunately they didn't move around much, but they were certainly alive.
We had to brush up the stagnant water and some dead bugs on the floor, maybe an inch or two deep in large puddles. We had a hose and washed the floor down with fresh water, and pushed the resulting mixture down a drain. Pushing your way around, you had to travel under many of these beams covered in Palmetto bugs, twitching away a few inches above your head. I was very uncomfortable to begin with, but after about twenty minutes of running "Hellos and OKs" silently on the bugs while I was working it became tolerable (I was very glad I knew that bit of tech!).
We went back in there a month or so later for a couple of hours and there wasn't one bug in sight. The floor was covered with white powder, supposedly safe for humans, but I was glad to be away from it.
Since I was routing out, I had to get a Leaving Sec Check. This I got from Sylvia, who was a decent auditor. I was allowed extra sleep to be sessionable, so this was fine.
Life was grand (by comparison) for about a month. Then I finished my sec check and was in waiting mode, waiting to be allowed to leave. It eventually took about six weeks from sec-check completion to getting out of the door. More on this later.
Suddenly conditions changed. There was some purge or other and over the space of a week the RPF's RPF swelled in size to fifty or so and life became a bit of a nightmare again. But the berthing was OK still as Jamie and I had to be segregated from the others since we were leaving and a possible bad influence. It was more tolerable though as there was light at the end of the tunnel, and in a few weeks or so I knew I would be out of there, free at last. Jamie used to joke about it being like the Hotel California, in that you could check out but could never leave, and at times it seemed like that was really true. There were some who had expressed a wish to leave, but were told that
if they left they would be declared, even though the policy was that if you routed out properly you could do that and wouldn't be declared. At the time it seemed important.
One stop on leaving was what the RPF Insider calls the $500 "severance pay". It's not really severance pay, although that might be the spin put on it. When you leave they demand that you sign a waiver, which basically says you are signing this of your own free will (hah!), you are a real bad-ass and the decent, hard-working, considerate people in the CofS have bent over backwards trying to help you but you have refused their help and it's all your own fault and not theirs, and you will not breathe a word of what you have observed during your time in the SO, including posting to the Internet. Because you are giving up a valuable right, you have to be compensated with a valuable consideration, i.e. the $500, presumably the least they felt they could get away with. Getting $500 on some org's FP for this is almost impossible. The worst crime you can commit in the SO is to leave it, and no-one in the SO cares a hoot about someone leaving as long as they don't create a PR flap. I wrote a letter to RTC saying I didn't care about getting $500 cash--and I didn't--and if they packaged up a pile of dog shit and said it was worth $500 I would have agreed to it. Eventually I got a couple of second-hand KTL books, which they considered were equivalent in value. My dog-shit idea didn't fly. I didn't need the money as I had some credit cards available and I could live off those until I got a job etc.
I eventually got out after working straight through a couple of days and nights with the others and collapsing. Up to this time I had had maybe 7 hours sleep a night, but there was some rush renos cycle needed. They knew I had high blood pressure, and I had joked that the way I could get out of there was to overdo the work and have a heart attack, and I sometimes made a show of working extra-hard as if I was actively pursuing that goal. I wasn't stupid enough to really do that, but they could probably have believed that I was. They probably decided to get rid of me quick in case I really did have a heart attack or something.
[Added in 2007:] A couple have posted their joy in the final departure. Oh yes, oh yes! I had routed out in accordance with the rules, more or less, so was leaving openly. I piled up my dozen cardboard boxes of possessions outside the Horseshoe entrance, then ran around to the self-storage company just opposite Bridge on Fountain and rented a space for a month or so. I borrowed a flatbed hand-truck from them and shifted my boxes in without incident. Then I rented a room in the Travelodge Motel just around the corner on Vermont. At which point I could now relax as my gear was safe, I had somewhere to sleep for now, and I was F-R-E-E!!!
I spent two nights in that motel, then rented a room from a local Scn landlord on Fountain just across from the Main Building for a week. I was off to England in a week for a long-overdue visit and didn't bother getting settled in anywhere. But those two nights in that motel, with that huge room and shower and TV all to myself, no money worries, out after 23 years, and I could come and go as I pleased....
Paul
http://www.fzglobal.org/w040917-041116.htm#384
I was in the PAC RPF for several months in 1996. To start with, it was miserable indeed on a daily basis. There are different aspects to life in the RPF: sleeping and toilet/shower arrangements; work; eating; study.
In the RPF the main men's dorm contained about 45 men in three-high bunks, crammed together. There was just enough space between the bunks to stand. I was in a top bunk, with my head about six inches from a noisy ventilation outlet pipe.
Work was not fun. I was assigned to the "mudding" unit, the unit responsible for throwing up stud-and-track walls and plastering them. I wasn't very good at it at all, and it was very messy. The showers after work were OK, but at night there was one men's bathroom to use for about twenty guys at a time all trying to clean their teeth, use the toilet etc. at the same time. It was very degrading and dehumanizing. (I don't mean there was a long line of irritated people waiting to use the bathroom--we were all in there at the same time!)
The RPF food was the same as the rest of the crew, and was of reasonable quality, and decently prepared and presented. Eating it was a hassle, as the space was cramped and if someone walked by you had to shuffle your chair around to make room. With a hundred RPFers or so, there was a long chow line to actually get the food onto one's plate, so there wasn't much time to eat it. It was barely tolerable, but could have been worse.
A year ago I was reading about conditions in a US prison, and I was thinking how luxurious it sounded by comparison, in terms of freedom to make phone calls, etc. That's not the whole story, as I would fear for my life in a US prison, but didn't in the RPF.
Study was frustrating. The buzzword was working towards "Redemption". It went fine for a couple of weeks, then I went into session with my twin. My twin had a tight needle with a high TA and I was unable to overcome it. It was all my fault, of course, but I couldn't fix it. I'm not a wimpy kind of guy, but I was literally in tears several times over a couple of months, frustrated at making no progress.
All this changed radically the day after LRH's birthday, when I wrote a request to route out. I was assigned to the RPF's RPF, as was normal when an RPFer wanted to leave instead of being with the redemption program.
The RPF's RPF is supposed to be even more miserable than the RPF, but in my case everything was an immediate upgrade. There were only half a dozen or so of us, mostly girls, with myself and another guy being the only men. The other guy was Jamie Didcoate, 20 year-old son of ex-UK long-term SO members Richard and Kathy Didcoate, currently on the PAC RPF per RPF Insider. Since single men and women cannot share the same room, Jamie and I were the only people in the bedroom. Now, only two people in a room is a luxury I had not had in the previous 23 years in the SO! For most of the time I was in PAC I had been in a dorm in Lebanon Hall (room 617), initially with 8-11 other guys and then 5-8 after we tossed out one of the 3-bed bunks one day.
When I started there, the RPF's RPF ate before the regular RPF, but from the same food. We only had 20 minutes to eat instead of 30, but with no waiting this didn't add up to less time actually eating, and being there first we got the pick of the food, as much to eat of the best stuff as we wanted.
The work was hard and messy, but the person in charge of the RPF's RPF was Sylvia Crundall (earlier Grout, Collins), who I had known from the UK twenty years earlier. She was in-valence and a decent person, an auditor, unlike some of the sadists who had senior positions in the regular RPF. She wasn't soft, but she was fair.
We spent a day in the famous Rats' Alley once, which was memorable. It isn't an alley, but a space about 60 feet by 50 under the kitchens, with hot water pipes running through it so it was hot. The ceiling was about five feet high, but there were beams hanging down a foot or so and with the water-pipes that were too hot to touch you couldn't walk around in there, but got around lying face-down on makeshift wheeled boards. I didn't see any rats, but there were plenty of those giant cockroach-like creatures called "Palmetto Bugs". Palmetto Bugs are remarkable insects. One is two or three inches long, armored so it doesn't squish easily, and it can *fly* for God's sake! The day I was there, the walls of Rats Alley were full of them. When I say "full", I mean pretty much every available inch of wall-space was covered with them--there must have been tens of thousands of them. Fortunately they didn't move around much, but they were certainly alive.
We had to brush up the stagnant water and some dead bugs on the floor, maybe an inch or two deep in large puddles. We had a hose and washed the floor down with fresh water, and pushed the resulting mixture down a drain. Pushing your way around, you had to travel under many of these beams covered in Palmetto bugs, twitching away a few inches above your head. I was very uncomfortable to begin with, but after about twenty minutes of running "Hellos and OKs" silently on the bugs while I was working it became tolerable (I was very glad I knew that bit of tech!).
We went back in there a month or so later for a couple of hours and there wasn't one bug in sight. The floor was covered with white powder, supposedly safe for humans, but I was glad to be away from it.
Since I was routing out, I had to get a Leaving Sec Check. This I got from Sylvia, who was a decent auditor. I was allowed extra sleep to be sessionable, so this was fine.
Life was grand (by comparison) for about a month. Then I finished my sec check and was in waiting mode, waiting to be allowed to leave. It eventually took about six weeks from sec-check completion to getting out of the door. More on this later.
Suddenly conditions changed. There was some purge or other and over the space of a week the RPF's RPF swelled in size to fifty or so and life became a bit of a nightmare again. But the berthing was OK still as Jamie and I had to be segregated from the others since we were leaving and a possible bad influence. It was more tolerable though as there was light at the end of the tunnel, and in a few weeks or so I knew I would be out of there, free at last. Jamie used to joke about it being like the Hotel California, in that you could check out but could never leave, and at times it seemed like that was really true. There were some who had expressed a wish to leave, but were told that
if they left they would be declared, even though the policy was that if you routed out properly you could do that and wouldn't be declared. At the time it seemed important.
One stop on leaving was what the RPF Insider calls the $500 "severance pay". It's not really severance pay, although that might be the spin put on it. When you leave they demand that you sign a waiver, which basically says you are signing this of your own free will (hah!), you are a real bad-ass and the decent, hard-working, considerate people in the CofS have bent over backwards trying to help you but you have refused their help and it's all your own fault and not theirs, and you will not breathe a word of what you have observed during your time in the SO, including posting to the Internet. Because you are giving up a valuable right, you have to be compensated with a valuable consideration, i.e. the $500, presumably the least they felt they could get away with. Getting $500 on some org's FP for this is almost impossible. The worst crime you can commit in the SO is to leave it, and no-one in the SO cares a hoot about someone leaving as long as they don't create a PR flap. I wrote a letter to RTC saying I didn't care about getting $500 cash--and I didn't--and if they packaged up a pile of dog shit and said it was worth $500 I would have agreed to it. Eventually I got a couple of second-hand KTL books, which they considered were equivalent in value. My dog-shit idea didn't fly. I didn't need the money as I had some credit cards available and I could live off those until I got a job etc.
I eventually got out after working straight through a couple of days and nights with the others and collapsing. Up to this time I had had maybe 7 hours sleep a night, but there was some rush renos cycle needed. They knew I had high blood pressure, and I had joked that the way I could get out of there was to overdo the work and have a heart attack, and I sometimes made a show of working extra-hard as if I was actively pursuing that goal. I wasn't stupid enough to really do that, but they could probably have believed that I was. They probably decided to get rid of me quick in case I really did have a heart attack or something.
[Added in 2007:] A couple have posted their joy in the final departure. Oh yes, oh yes! I had routed out in accordance with the rules, more or less, so was leaving openly. I piled up my dozen cardboard boxes of possessions outside the Horseshoe entrance, then ran around to the self-storage company just opposite Bridge on Fountain and rented a space for a month or so. I borrowed a flatbed hand-truck from them and shifted my boxes in without incident. Then I rented a room in the Travelodge Motel just around the corner on Vermont. At which point I could now relax as my gear was safe, I had somewhere to sleep for now, and I was F-R-E-E!!!
I spent two nights in that motel, then rented a room from a local Scn landlord on Fountain just across from the Main Building for a week. I was off to England in a week for a long-overdue visit and didn't bother getting settled in anywhere. But those two nights in that motel, with that huge room and shower and TV all to myself, no money worries, out after 23 years, and I could come and go as I pleased....
Paul