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Same Shit, Different Dummy

My name is John Cullison, and this is the introduction to My Story.


A warm spring afternoon became my first real interaction with Scientology. As I flowed down University Way (a.k.a. "The Ave") with (and sometimes in spite of) the rest of the copious foot traffic, I spotted a young woman standing very near where I had seen an unattended stack of Dianetics books a couple weeks earlier. Making eye contact is all it takes. Smiling, she approached me and asked me if she could ask me a few questions...

Already curious about Dianetics, and intending to buy a copy and read it, I agreed to undergo the ritual known as "body routing" and soon found myself heading through the dirty glass door to the stairs that led to the University Way Mission's quirky office space, sitting atop the contiguous retail space that lined The Ave. The space was pretty bland -- very few decorations of any sort, long office tables against walls, the occasional fake (or was it real?) plant, a few closed doors visible down the long hallway toward the rear, not much activity. The young woman, whose name completely escapes me, sat me down, handed me a personality test, and gave me directions.

I answered honestly, and I was soon directed to a young man, Jerry, in a nearby office, who went over the results with me. There are ten categories that the test is designed to assess -- empathy, ability to communicate, how active one is, etc. The results did not surprise me in the least. My chart showed what looked a lot like a bell shaped curve -- very low on the ends, considerably higher in the middle. Jerry had no need to try to convince me of the validity of the test -- I already knew I had issues.

Following the analysis, Jerry was desperate to try to sell me a course. I found this a bit annoying, as all I wanted to do was get a copy of Dianetics and read it. I explained this. He pushed. I held my ground (I should have marked that day on my calendar). Finally he relented, sold me a copy of Dianetics, and I was on my way out.


When I got the book home, I began reading it right away. Over the next few days, I read after work, and I was entranced. I finally had an explanation for why I was such a whatever-I-was-this-week. It was all laid out, how the pain and unconsciousness lead to words becoming hypnotic, which, to me, totally explained why a parent with low coping skills might instinctively inflict pain and bark orders to try to compel her children to obey...

I kept reading. Not only did it explain why people got so messed up, it also provided a solution! I was a bit annoyed that it required someone else, but I could see how having help might not be a bad idea. I was positively giddy that maybe this would be the answer I'd been seeking!

I kept reading. Then, about the fifth day, I had a sudden, gut-wrenching moment of self-realization.

What if all the crap I had done to others was a part of it? Would I want to be telling that stuff to someone else?

I spent the next couple weeks going over the book, satisfying myself that it had nothing to do with what I had done to others, only what others had done to me. Certain that Dianetics was just undoing the hypnotic commands associated with the words in painful experiences, I got brave and returned to the Dianetics Center.

On my return, the young woman was not standing outside. In fact, the place seemed to be a bit deserted. I climbed the stairs and started wandering around, attempting to find someone. Teresa wandered out of what I would later learn was the course room. Seeing a stranger wandering around, she asked that tired old cliché, "May I help you?"

I stammered a bit, not quite knowing what to say. "I'd like to find out about going Clear," I replied. She didn't hear me. "I'd like to go Clear," I said. Teresa smiled -- were those golden dollar signs I saw sparkling in her eyes? -- and led me to an office to meet The Registrar.


I am, for better or worse, a "nice" guy. As many devout Scientologists will tell you, "nice" is a synonym (based on etymological studies) for "stupid, foolish, and ignorant". Nice guys finish last because they let people walk all over them -- thus, the argument has some merit, I'll admit. Unfortunately, the only alternative I knew was best described as "asshole", and I was tired of the problems that persona caused.

My first experience with a Scientology registrar was not so bad. I signed up for the Hubbard Dianetics Auditor's Course, and I was also sold some tapes, a hardback copy of Dianetics that I did not need (as a "nice" guy, I let this slide), and a course pack. I also bought twenty five hours of Dianetics (Book One) auditing. I really wanted the auditing. I needed the auditing. I had asshole to exorcise! But in the meantime, I was on course, studying away.

Sadly, this Dianetics Center did not actually have any Dianetics (or any other) auditors, but it could bring in an independent auditor with some arranging, and so I was able to go in session eventually.

As anyone familiar with Scientology will tell you, being actively involved in a course and having auditing paid for is no reason not to find ways to use up even more of your time evangelizing, and Scientology's chief evangelists are its registrars. I spent many hours getting Scientology explained to me. The first time was a bit of a shock. Brad, the Mission's registrar (among other duties), showed me the grade chart all the way up to OT levels (giving me an instant spiritual hard-on), as he explained about this thing called Scientology and that I was, in fact, in a church.

That moment -- sitting in Brad's office with the realization that Scientology is a religion -- really stands out in my mind. I had already been disgusted with this world's religions. I did not think the world needed another one. Dianetics, however, sat there, a tempting morsel, something I was eager to pursue, and now, apparently, they have stuff beyond Clear?!? So I told myself that I would try it and see. If it doesn't work out, I'll leave: no harm, no foul.

Each day or so there was another book Brad wanted to sell me. I bought and read them all: always hardback, always relatively expensive -- as a rule, I did not buy hardback books, but Scientology would never sell you a seven-dollar book when a thirty-five-dollar book is available.

Well before I finished my Dianetics auditing, I had my Purification Rundown (Purif) and TRs and Objectives Course paid for (Brad had encouraged me to get a $4,000 loan from a credit union I belonged to through my mother's place of employment -- remember "nice guy"?). I actually only received twenty of those twenty five hours of Book One auditing I'd paid for, because I was arbitrarily scheduled to start the Purif on some day, only I still had five auditing hours due me when that day arrived. After you've started the Purification Rundown, you're on your way up The Bridge, leaving lowly Book One behind. See: "nice guy".


Largely hidden from me, Scientology was about to unveil a new advertising campaign in the form of Dianetics gymnatics mats at the Good Will Games. Held in 1990 in Seattle -- some at the University of Washington, just a stone's throw from the Mission -- the Good Will Games was a very high profile event, and Scientology wanted to be a part of it. Scientology's bigwigs wanted this advertising campaign to be a big hit, but standing between International Management and its lofty advertising goals was the University Way Mission. Posh, it was not. Somewhere you would want to bring dignitaries, it was not. As a small mission barely paying its $500 monthly rent on time, sitting above The Ave in an office space that no one else was interested in, University Way Mission needed to be something that International Management would be proud to show off to the thousands upon thousands of visitors walking by every day, something to reinforce what would, of course, be a spectacular marketing success.

A bold plan was hatched -- not a plan anyone with a lick of sense would have agreed to, but certainly Scientology's executives have been known to be rash on occasion. I have to wonder if this plan was given an official name, or if it just came on some checksheet to be initialed. Regardless, I cannot decide who is more at fault for what happened next: the Mission's own executives, or International Management.

Curiously, the landlord of the existing Mission facility was threatening to double the rent from $500 to $1000 per month. Naturally, having a storefront on The Ave would generally command a premium rent, and the landlord wanted his due. Too bad the space was so unappealing, or it might have been worth it, really, and the University Way Mission would not have been the embarassment that it was to International Management.

Faced with the threat of increased rent that it couldn't readily afford and demands from up high that the Mission staff posh up, the Mission Holder and Executive Director, Brent, went looking for a new space nearby. Unfortunately for all involved, he found one.

On the northeast corner of University Way and NE 45th St sat what was then the First Interstate Bank building. The lower portion of it was all bank, and this was easily accessed from wide double-door facing the corner of the two streets at a diagonal. Heading east, however, NE 45th St inclines, making the building somewhat recessed into the hill, and moving the sidewalk up to another entrance to the building -- to a top storey that was completely unused by the bank.

This top storey was indeed grand, by Mission standards. Double glass doors led to a wide stairway, which went north, then turned and headed west into what would become the reception area. All along the south and west sides of the building were real offices with plenty of space and windows looking out over The Ave or NE 45th. Making a U-turn to the left as one topped the stairs would lead one to a hallway down which were the (enormous) restrooms and, at the end, a small room designed for showing movies. To the north of reception was a huge empty room whose original purpose was unclear -- maybe huge employee meetings? The room had several doorways, some leading to the main hallways with all the offices, and others to even more rooms. Some would become course rooms. Others would become storage areas, basically chaos contained.

Below, at entrance level, was a second small area at street level. Comprised of two rooms, the first was completely visible from the street, with its own entrance (perpendicular to the main entrance) and would be the new testing center's reception area; the larger room behind and to the north would be where "raw meat" would take their first steps to Total Freedom via the personality test.

It looked like an ideal space for the Mission. Plenty of decent offices, plenty of course room space, a movie room, a separate testing facility... it was everything a Mission could want and then some. And when Brent went to visit the vice president of the bank to negotiate acquiring this otherwise unused space that the bank had no idea what to do with, the vice president did not even bother to run a credit check on the Mission, figuring that its ten years in the area was good enough credit for him.

The elephant in the room was the price. As you might expect, renting out a space that large was not cheap, and in this case, the five-year lease that was signed had a sliding scale that increased the monthly rent as time went on. Starting at $3,000 per month, far more money than this Mission without any auditing staff at all was accustomed to making, the lease would eventually reach its maximum monthly rent at $5,000.

The only policy in force the day that lease was signed was "glow it right", but they figured, they're going to have to make more money anyway, what does it matter if it's $1,000 or $5,000 a month? Both figures were just numbers with no particular meaning (other than "more than we got now"). In some ways, this self-inflicted crisis was a bit of a blessing, because it really brought out the worst of Scientology, stripping off any social pretense and making it all about the money, all the time. Paying rent became such an overriding concern that virtually any means of getting income to be able to pay rent was considered acceptable, no matter whatever other problems it might have caused.

And it caused problems a-plenty.

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Patron with Honors
Hi FreedBodyThetan. Welcome !! :happydance: :happydance: I enjoyed your story. Am looking forward to more of it when you are ready! :thumbsup: :yes:


Patron with Honors
Welcome, John! I enjoyed your story and look forward to reading more. Isn't the University mission gone now? When did it shut down?


Excellent first post and welcome to the board!! :thumbsup: I got hooked in 1990 and remember well the dianetics campaigne. It was on buses, adds all over the tubes, it seemed it was everywhere. This gave me the impression this was about to crack world wide and I wanted to be there helping save mankind... :duh: It was easy to get caught when everywhere one looked there were adds.

Looking forward to the rest of your story!
The Saga Begins

My own experience with my Dianetics auditing was not so great. It had its moments, but it was nothing special. Honestly, what I could do with Dianetics auditing others was far more spectacular in terms of helping them get over things than what Dianetics actually did for me. Sure, there were a few grief incidents. There was being hit by a car when I was six years old (which really wasn't a big deal -- everyone else was more traumatized than I was). There were a few past life fragments, including some which were completely fabricated and others... others seemed real. Consequently, not finishing out those last five hours was not that big a deal to me. I had bigger fish to fry -- The Bridge.

Whereas Dianetics auditing required rounding up an outside auditor, a friend of the Mission, to audit me, the Purif really strained the relationship between the letter of the law and the spirit of the law.

To run the Purif, you must have a twin. Now, the twin, ideally, is also on the Purif, and you do it together, and you're responsible for each other, and you both push each other through it.

Ideally, the organization delivering the Purif has its own sauna and showers.

There was nothing ideal about the University Way Mission.

Consequently, each day of the Purification Rundown was a new adventure in figuring out who my twin would be and where the sauna was. Sometimes it was at the nearby YMCA. Other times it was up at a public facility in Mountlake Terrace (not exactly an easy ride from the University District). A couple times it was at a public gym in downtown Seattle. In the thirteen days I spent on the Purif (the first time *ahem*), I probably had seven different twins. Basically, the Seattle church and its three nearby Missions would use each other as a pool for finding twins -- and, as a result, it got to be pretty chaotic.

The letter of the law -- followed, mostly. The spirit? Already running through the Purif, which is stressful enough in itself, all the extra insanity really doesn't help. It's kinda like buying the retail package only to have them send you the self-assembly model and then have someone call you to give you assembly instructions.

I was, nevertheless, pleased with the Purif's results -- much more so than the Dianetics auditing.

Somewhere in here, I think just before I did the Purif, I joined staff. I was nearing a forced layoff for contractual reasons (didn't help that I was an asshole), and Brad and Brent decided that I should be on staff. The two situations were conveniently coincidental, and Brad really talked up being able to make a decent living by being an auditor. This, of course, meshed very well with the whole purpose-to-help thing, and my own experiences with auditing others and straight Book One stuff. Then, then came the Big Bait.

Flag, for reasons known only to Scientology marketing executives, used to have (may still have, for that matter) various games where a church or mission sends so many of something-or-other to Flag, and the church or mission earns training awards. Sometimes, the bar was set pretty low, and the rewards were pretty big, relative to the bar -- something like "select two people to send down here to start any service and win a complete Grad V training package! Yippee!" Well, University Way Mission just so happened to have won a Grad V training package at Flag by playing just such a game. If I'd be willing to sign a five-year contract to begin upon my return, Brad and Brent and Teresa told me, I could train to be the Mission's auditor (the Mission desperately needed one, as the last one it had managed to train was basically stolen by the local org, if my spies are correct).

So there it was.

I signed the five-year contract.

Then every possible way to prevent my going to Flag from happening that anyone could think of was put into play.

Initially, I was pretty gung ho. I knew that I would need to get through my Scientology Drug Rundown in order to be able to do Pro TRs, so I would need to get that paid for, basically, although really, anyone on staff should be getting auditing as part of his lineup. I did not mind paying, though. But, well, remember that rent problem at the new place?

I kept being reg'd to buy more things. I needed to get all of my course materials paid for. OK. Why I was paying the Mission for course materials that it couldn't deliver was a bit of a mystery, but I figured they'd work it out. Did I say I was a "nice guy"? I meant "big pussy".

Eventually, I had to have a Mark VII E-meter, too. Somehow, I managed to come up with the money for that. But then Brad said something to me, he wanted to let me know that he would handle getting me that meter personally. He promised.

Why did he say that?

Well, of course, the money I paid for the E-meter just happened to be enough to pay rent that month, and that's where it was spent, not on getting my E-meter.

Still, I persisted, assuming all would turn out. These guys were the good guys, right?

So I got on the phone and starting calling Clearwater. I got out the directory of Scientology businesses and started looking for a job in the area, something that would allow me to survive while training at Flag. I had names, even found what might have been a great job.

Then Brent bared his thetan teeth and really showed me what's what, although I didn't understand it at the time.

"Yeah, I didn't really expect you to get this far," he told me, commenting on my progress.

If I were a balloon, he would have just deflated me.

Not long after, another reason to keep me behind was found. I would need to prove myself a productive staff member before I could go. Looking back at the irony of this... they should have been proving to me that they were worthy of my time, really. Did I say "big pussy"? I meant "giant pussy." So... out into the streets to be a body router.

Now, being a body router was a good exercise, and, really, if there's even a shred of dignity to something now, I have no back off on talking to someone about it. After all, being out on the street doing surveys of people and dragging them into the Mission full of liars and money grubbers and whatever else they were is far more embarassing to contemplate. And I got really good at it.

So good, in fact, that I was "promoted" to being the Public Executive Secretary, after which my stats promptly crashed.

I don't know what that was about. Looking back, maybe I sabotaged it out of revenge. Or maybe... well, like I said, I dunno. I don't think that was the case. I just... I wasn't enthusiastic about it any more. My up stats kinda re-inflated my balloon, so to speak. Being posted to something completely not what I agreed to re-deflated it.

But something else was brought up, just to cement "never going to Flag on our training awards" in my mind, and I'm not sure about the proper ordering of all this, so it could have been before or after the above.

See, there's a policy for what you can do and when and how you can do it, which was written by someone not-LRH, in a pretty bound booklet that describes in agonizing detail the precise route one must take before one can get any sort of auditor training or auditing. I forget the exact steps, but it included things like OEC Volume course for one's own division, well before ever being allowed to train on anything useful or desired. Obviously you must be Staff Status II, have a good production record, suck the ED's cock on command, whatever.

So really, I went from the gentleman's agreement to dedicate six or seven years of my life to Scientology in exchange for these training awards (while still having to basically pay my way through it), to being of questionable worth to the organization, a low-life scum, someone they could abuse to go further into debt to get money from to pay the rent, but certainly no one they would actually send off to go train for a year and come back to actually be their auditor. I just wasn't trustworthy.

Oh, and, by the way, you're not allowed to be upset by any of that. That's "case on post". It doesn't matter how much bullshit you get fed, getting mad at them for the lies and bullshit is case on post, and you signed a contract, and whatever we talked about before was just talk and this contract is the prevailing agreement. Sucker.

No, it's not "case on post". It's called "you're a bunch of fucking liars."

One of the sad things I later learned is that Teresa, who was going along with this as the chief technical executive of the mission ("OES"), was herself once sent to Flag for training. Due to complete bullshit she was yanked away after only being certified Class 0 (not interned). And now... she was basically agreeing to the same basic bullshit being repeated on me: the bait-and-switch of auditor training versus "shut up and do what we post you to".

I had even once pointed out to her that this continued reging being applied to me to pay for stuff is just making it harder for me to be able to get to Flag so we can have a real Flag-trained auditor. She agreed with me... and then continued to ignore it and let it happen anyway. Then again, I'm the one who should have had the integrity to say no. Did I say "giant pussy"? What comes after "giant pussy"? :hmm:


Gold Meritorious Patron
Oh this is SOOOOOO familiar - but I can't wait for the next episode.

Keep 'em coming, freedBT!!!


Gold Meritorious Patron
OMG, John, you are a riot. This is not a funny story, but you sure are making me laugh as you tell it. Can't wait for more. :)

Good twin

Oh this is SOOOOOO familiar - but I can't wait for the next episode.

Keep 'em coming, freedBT!!!

Yes!!!:happydance: I know this story too!! I'm pretty sure I know how it turns out, but I can't stop reading.

It's almost like I'm there........or was there.......or somewhere very much like it.:unsure:

Please continue.


Mega - pussy
tera - pussy
exa - pussy

The skies the limit.

I feel your pain. I bought an entire training package, joined staff and was switched to a non-tech post, and had to endure the Fully Hatted, blah blah blah bullshit.

A Word on Promotion

So there I was, on staff. The Mission ran on foundation hours, since none of us could afford to live on zero, and I was among the most gainfully employed. Brad and the then Course Supervisor, Frank, were also gainfully employed -- the rest of the staff not so much, but they had spouses who supported them or other means.

I settled into my rather hectic life. By the time I was over the idea of going to Flag, I had a new day job, and I spent my nights first body routing and then in the courseroom, using up the "money" I had on account. Saturdays were an all-day body-routing affair (unless someone needed a twin for something). Sunday activity was uncommon then. And, of course, Wednesday nights were often the dreaded all hands events.

One of the statistics that all Scientology groups track is the number of bulk promotional pieces sent out each week. In spite of the problems with paying rent, money was spent sending out promotional pieces, because, well, after all, businesses need to advertise. These pieces were invariably sent to us by Scientology Missions International (SMI), pre-printed with official, Church-approved information, and then a spot was left blank where we could place our address. It looked a little like a small newspaper, really just a sheet of newsprint folded into one-eighth its normal size. Think Little Nickel Want Ads, and you've got it, only nowhere near as thick.

It would have taken the printer all of a few seconds to make our pieces with the Mission's address on them, but it was much more therapeutic for us degraded types to become RonBots and try to get this over with as fast as possible by doing the minimum amount of activity required to stamp the address and then move the piece to its new pile. First, separate them into stacks of fifty, then stack the stacks by alternating their directions. Then, stampers to the ready! Hands into position... stamp, move, stamp, move, stamp, move, stamp, move, stamp, move, until pile complete -- then, change orientation, stamp, move, stamp, move, stamp, move....

Not merely content to degrade us by making us waste hours stamping the Mission's address in the designated location, we had an additional task to perform, which involved stuffing "movie tickets" into the pieces, but not in the main centerfold, since it was a lot easier for them to slip out there. We had to carefully lift a corner, pulling up just the top sheet, and then stuff the tickets deep inside, where the natural friction created by the folding would tend to hold the tickets a little better.

The movie tickets were always printed on big sheets -- and yet another task to perform would be to use a manual paper cutter to cut the sheets into individual tickets before they could be stuffed. The trick was to figure out how many sheets a given paper cutter could handle given its weight and sharpness. We had two paper cutters. The larger one could do more at a time than the smaller without tearing or jamming, but if you didn't hold the arm just right as you swung it down, it could still catch and stick and not complete the cut all the way.

The movie tickets were most often for movies that we had reported to SMI that we did not even have available. SMI didn't care. SMI would continue to send us boxes of promotional materials (the exchange for the 16% tax we paid to SMI each week) that had little or nothing to do with anything the Mission could handle. I'm pretty sure we just got shipped whatever tickets were left over from the printing runs they did for the more successful missions.

Really, that's not a lot to complain about. It certainly wasn't hard work, it was just stupid to make us do it when SMI could easily halved (or more) our work. Many a Wednesday night was spent not just engaging in the stamp'n'stuff monotony for several hours, however, but also being forced to listen to then-popular country music. Brad and Brent were big country music fans.

Say what you want about the RPF, at least the Sea Org's victims weren't forced to listen to "The Thunder Rolls" and "Achey Breaky Heart" and whatever other crap was "popular country music" in the day.

The "official" reason we stuffed a pair of tickets into the promo pieces was because it tripled our "promo out" statistic. The reality, however, was that it was a total power trip for Brent. Most of us would be in the course room "stuffing promo", and Brent (and often Brad) would be elsewhere, not stuffing promo. "All hands" my sweatty ass. The country music was required, although eventually, with neither Brad nor Brent present, we'd change it. Sometimes Brent would come in and grab a pile of something or other, check on us, and retreat to his office -- and make sure the country music was still on. He couldn't hang out with the riff-raff, you know.

Once these were complete, the stuffed pieces were reboxed and then sent to be inserted into local newspapers. Paying to have them inserted into the newspapers was the major expense (since, after all, slave labor is free).

None of our efforts made a lick of difference, so, honestly, it didn't matter what movie tickets we sent out. SMI knows this. We very rarely got someone to contact us off of one of these pieces of promotional material, and the number of people interested in watching one of these movies was actually close enough to zero to call it that. Of the maybe handful of people who contacted us from these pieces, none of them actually became Scientologists -- ever.

It didn't matter to Brent. In staff meetings, the magic of managing by statistic would show how there would be an increase in other statistics following weeks when we got that promo out. Yay! Except for when it didn't happen... It wasn't consistent. But when it happened, it was magic! And when it didn't, well... the promo mojo wasn't mentioned then.

Our most successful actions were always body routing (for volume) and being in the right place at the right time (for those who found their way in from having read a book) -- but sadly there is no statistic for that.

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Gold Meritorious Patron

thanks for sharing yr story, it makes for a good read.
sorry for the lost of freedom and hardship you have been thru :(
ESMB is willing to listen and understand
More on Movie Tickets

Movie tickets were more magical than just being used to triple our bulk promo out statistic. While body routing, we would often be tasked with handing out these movie tickets to "increase our stats".

Remember how I said that usually we didn't have the movie for the ticket we were handing out?

While interest in actually seeing the movie was rare, we would occasionally get someone who would call us on showing him the film -- and then some "excellent TRs" would have to be employed to convince the person to see one of the films that we did have.

Not once did these movie showings ever actually produce a Scientologist, either, but who's counting? As I recall, the few who watched a movie left as quickly as they could, but I admit I was not directly involved in showing movies (I was the movie projector geek in school, but I was never checked out on running a Hubbard Special, so...).

As part of our daily muster, we were given a quota for the number of tickets to hand out that evening or day. Doing so is just a mechanical action, another RonBot thing -- react to incoming stimulus of "person walking by" by saying "Here you go!" cheerfully and pushing a ticket directly into the person's hand. They don't even register they're taking it half the time if they're busy talking with a friend.

I usually stood on the east side of University Way, close to the Mission -- it was easier to route people in if we didn't have to cross the street, but it certainly wasn't impossible to work the other side -- and when two of us were out, we had our typical positions a bit north of the entrance to the bank, one on either side of a large public mailbox, basically underneath one of the decorative streetlamps that lined The Ave. The person on the north side of the mailbox generally interacted with southbound traffic; the person to the south took northbound.

I was out body routing one time with Frank -- Frank is a natural comedian and excellent bull baiter and an asset to the course room -- but he was not accustomed to body routing or ticket distribution. His patter was "Would you like a movie ticket?", to which everyone responded in the negative. After a short while, I asked to him, "Remember what LRH says about letting the public choose or decide?" He thought about this for about a nanosecond (he was Clear) and promptly corrected his patter. "Take this!" he said and handed the ticket to the somewhat startled passerby. :roflmao: He continued with this patter for the rest of the evening, considerbly more successful in delivering tickets, but I don't think the recipients were as appreciative as they might have been.


In the University District, there is a street fair that occurs once a year, right on University Way. The street is closed, and booths are set up all along the road, from NE 50th St (at the northernmost) down the hill quite a ways... maybe as far south as NE 37th-ish (I'm not as familiar with the streets at that end of University Way -- might not be a 37th).

The foot traffic is intense, and the Mission was always thrilled to use this time to spread the word, or, as I liked to think of it, Movie Ticket Confetti Bonanza!

We didn't body route those days. The two registrars (Brad and Brent) wouldn't be able to handle the volume, and that would demonstrate conclusively that having more people to draw from necessarily improves the number of people we can bring in, and, well, we can't let something like proof that outside influences can affect a statistic become an established fact, now, can we?

So we became master movie ticket distributors. Our quotas each were in the thousands. And we met them. And, as usual, by the time it was done, garbage cans were filled with the tickets, and quite a few were scattered all over the street. Then, because the City of Seattle had been upset in previous years over the volume of what was basically litter all over the place, we got to clean them up, too.

I don't know what it is about Scientology and its basic belief that "any is better than none". "Any promotion is better than no promotion." No, not really. It isn't just that it was such a waste of time and effort and resources (not that I cared all that much about the movie tickets), it was more -- that we looked like frickin' morons doing it. All the good promotion in the world that actually achieves some obvious, tangible result is worthwhile. Spending a whole day handing out these movie tickets -- what did we get? Movie tickets accumulated in garbage cans and increasingly scattered all around the street, reinforcing the increasingly obvious fact that they were worthless.

That's not to say we didn't get a bite. We did one time, for sure. Naturally, we didn't have the movie for the ticket we were handing out. Wow, how spectacularly professional we looked. And then... after watching the movie that was substituted for them... nothing. The duo left without any interest in even buying a book.

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Wisened One

From one fellow div 6'er to another...yep, all those memories of the bodyrouting, handing out tickets (then having to clean them up), selling books in the evenings, etc...(I also ran the projector for div 6 movies). Ugh.....:duh:

I'm so glad I don't do that anymore! :yes:

More, please?



Patron Meritorious
Ah, late night promo stuffing... the memories that evokes...

And did you ever have to go body route at 11pm because the bodies in the shop stat was down, when all there were wandering the streets at that time were drunk street people? Good times, good times.

Hi John, welcome to ESMB. Great posts, I look forward to reading more.