In the heart of Los Angeles, nestled between the glittering facades of Hollywood and the nondescript office buildings of downtown, stood a building that was neither here nor there in terms of architectural beauty or significance. Yet, it was whispered about in hushed, reverent tones among the hopeful and the curious: The Church of Scientology, or as its more secretive echelons referred to it, the “L. Ron Hubba Bubba’s Everlasting Gobstopper of Salvation.”
The building’s exterior was an odd mixture of modern minimalism and a carnivalesque invitation, with bright neon signs promising “Eternal Happiness” and “Infinite Knowledge” flashing like the lights of Willy Wonka’s factory. But unlike Wonka’s, this factory didn’t offer chocolate; it offered something far more intoxicating—spiritual enlightenment, or so they claimed.
The Invitation
The story begins with our protagonist, Jamie, a disillusioned screenwriter looking for meaning in a city that thrives on superficiality. One day, while meandering through the streets, Jamie stumbles upon a golden ticket. Not one for chocolate but for something far more valuable in this town—answers. The ticket was an invitation to an exclusive event at the Church, promising to unveil the secrets of the universe.
Jamie, with nothing to lose but his sanity, decides to attend. The doors of the Church open with a theatrical flair, revealing an interior that was a bizarre blend of a high-tech lab and a children’s playroom. The walls were lined with posters of L. Ron Hubbard, but instead of the stern, authorial gaze, these images had him sporting a top hat and a cane, like Wonka himself.
The E-meter Room
The first stop on this tour of enlightenment was the E-meter Room, a place where the boundaries between spiritual exploration and commercial gimmickry blurred into a spectacle of color and whimsy. Here, members were hooked up to devices that bore a striking resemblance to the E-meters used in Scientology, but these were not the solemn, clinical machines you might expect. Instead, they were painted in vibrant, eye-popping colors and whimsically adorned with candy wrappers, giving them the air of a Temu version of a home lie detector, both cheap and cheerful.
Alright, buckle up, DIY enthusiasts, because we’ve just uncovered the best-kept secret since the recipe for Grandma’s meatloaf: you can build your very own E-meter at home with stuff just lying around your house! Yes, that mystical device revered for detecting your deepest spiritual hiccups can be cobbled together with the high-tech wizardry of… wait for it… a potato, some spare change, and that half-eaten pack of gummy bears you’ve been hiding from your roommate.
Follow these simple instructions making sure to connect it all with some duct tape—because duct tape fixes everything, including your soul—and voilà! You’ve got yourself a homemade E-meter ready to reveal whether you’re secretly a reincarnated dolphin or just really bad at parallel parking. Warning: results may vary, especially if your potato starts sprouting or your gummy bears mysteriously disappear mid-session. (Hey, spiritual journeys can be stressful—snacking is allowed.)
So, forget expensive retreats or fancy gadgets; your path to cosmic clarity is just one pantry raid away. Just don’t be surprised if your “readings” suggest your spiritual blockage is due to an unbalanced diet of… well, gummy bears. (Image used with permission: Gemma Correll)
“This,” announced the guide, a chipper woman whose name, Candy, seemed almost too fitting for the setting, “is where we measure your spiritual progress. Much like how Wonka measures the sweetness of his candies!” Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm as she gestured towards the machines, their dials, and needles promising to chart the course of one’s soul.
Participants were invited to sit in cushioned chairs, reminiscent of the cozy armchairs one might find in a sweet shop, with large shiny electrodes that one had to grasp … one in each hand. Here, they were posed with questions about their past lives and current struggles, each response potentially nudging the needle on the meter. The device would jump and beep, each movement supposedly indicating a step closer to spiritual clarity—or as they humorously coined it here, the path to your “Everlasting Gobstopper.”
However, the “Fine Print” on the NDA revealed that the journey wasn’t without its perils. If one chose to leave early or question the process, they risked facing what was metaphorically referred to as a bad case of tummy ache from eating too much candy. The spiritual repercussions were severe; one would face a withdrawal from the community, losing the warmth and camaraderie of the group. Even more ominously, they were promised “cocoa consequences,” a darkly sweet twist on eternal damnation, suggesting a life without the sweetness of spiritual community or the promised enlightenment. In this playful yet profound setting, the E-meter wasn’t just a tool for spiritual auditing but a gateway to a candy-coated journey of self-discovery, with the stakes as high as the sugar content.
The Audit Candy Shop
Next was the Audit Candy Shop, a peculiar establishment where the currency wasn’t dollars but one’s willingness to delve into self-discovery. Instead of sweets, the shelves were lined with sessions of “auditing,” a form of therapy infused with magical thinking and a sprinkle of pseudoscience. Here, one’s deepest fears and anxieties were not just acknowledged but transformed into something tangible and, oddly enough, edible.
“Here, try this,” said a stern-looking auditor, handing Jamie a piece of candy labeled ‘Fear of Failure’. The idea was simple yet bizarre: by consuming this candy, one could supposedly gain the courage to confront their fears head-on. The candy itself tasted like a peculiar blend of bitterness and hope, leaving Jamie with a newfound sense of resolve or, at the very least, an intense placebo effect. It was a strange alchemy of psychology and confectionery, where emotional healing was as literal as biting into a piece of chocolate.
However, this psychological confectionery came with a catch. Once you began eating from the Audit Candy Shop, stopping was not advised. The auditors warned that to halt the process abruptly would mean losing all the “sweet” progress you’d made. It was like a diet of self-improvement where the withdrawal was not just emotional but also came with the threat of losing the newfound resilience you’d tasted in each bite.
The Sea Org Oompa-Loompas
The tour took a decidedly darker turn as the group descended into the lower levels of the building, where the Sea Org, the Church’s most dedicated, lifetime members, lived and worked. Here, the atmosphere felt palpably different, with the Sea Org Oompa-Loompas bearing a strange resemblance to South Park characters, not in commitment but in their oddly caricatured appearance. Despite this, their dedication to the cause was unwavering, their lives wholly devoted to serving under the enigmatic leader, now mythologized as “The Great Chocolate Maker.”
In this underground world, these individuals toiled relentlessly, caught in an endless loop of auditing sessions, study, and labor, all in pursuit of the ultimate spiritual goal. This goal was humorously, yet poignantly, referred to as “tasting the ultimate chocolate,” symbolizing the highest levels of spiritual enlightenment promised by the Church. Their lives were a testament to their faith, with every action geared towards achieving this elusive, sweet reward.
However, the path out of this commitment was fraught with peril. Leaving the Sea Org was not just frowned upon; it was tantamount to inviting the most severe “cocoa consequences.” Defectors faced social ostracism, financial ruin, and, in the most dramatic terms, the potential loss of their very soul, now viewed as a valuable currency within this strange, candy-themed spiritual economy. The metaphor of chocolate became a dark, controlling force, binding members to their vows with the fear of what lay beyond the Church’s protective, yet confining, walls.
The Room of Secrets
The climax of the tour was the Room of Secrets, an exclusive enclave where only the most trusted and devoted were granted access. Here, Jamie was initiated into the “truth” about the universe, a truth that was as bewildering as it was intoxicating. The stories spun before him spoke of alien races from distant galaxies, epic wars that spanned the cosmos, and spiritual essences ensnared within human bodies, all narrated with the zealous intensity of a bedtime story that had taken a wild turn into the realm of the absurd.
The Room of Secrets itself was a gallery of the bizarre, its walls painted with murals that depicted these grandiose tales. The art was unlike any Jamie had seen before; each piece appeared to be crafted from chocolate, constantly melting and reshaping into new, fantastical visions. The air was thick with the scent of cocoa, mingling with the whispers of ancient secrets, creating an atmosphere both enchanting and disorienting.
However, this room was not just a sanctuary of wonder; it was also a place of strict adherence. To step out of line, to question the narrative laid out before one, was to risk entrapment. Not by the chocolate that seemed so benign, but by the doctrines themselves, which were as binding as they were beguiling. Here, in this room where truth and madness danced hand in hand, Jamie learned that freedom of thought came with a price, and the cost could be as sweet as it was sever
The Escape
The escape route led Jamie through the “Hall of Mirrors,” a labyrinthine passage designed to disorient and confuse. Here, every reflection was a distorted version of Jamie, each one showing a different path, a different fate, each more lost than the last. The mirrors whispered temptations and threats, but Jamie pressed on, his heart pounding with the urgency of his mission. He ran, his footsteps echoing off the glass, dodging reflections that seemed to reach out to pull him back into the fold.
Finally, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled resolve, Jamie burst through the final mirror, which shattered like a dream dispelled, into the stark light of freedom. But freedom came with its own set of warnings. As he made his escape, Candy, the enigmatic figure who had welcomed him into this world, whispered a chilling promise, “Remember, once you’ve tasted our chocolate, it’s always with you. You can run, but the cocoa consequences await those who leave.” Her words hung in the air, a sweet threat that promised that no matter how far Jamie ran, the taste of this experience would linger, potentially forever.
Jamie didn’t look back as he sprinted from the building, the echoes of the cult’s teachings still ringing in his ears, the taste of chocolate on his tongue a constant reminder of what he had left behind. Yet, with each step away from that place, the air grew fresher, the sky brighter, and the weight of manipulation began to lift. He knew the journey to cleanse his mind of the indoctrination would be long, but the first step was to escape, and that he had done.
Aftermath
Back in the real world, Jamie felt changed. The taste of that “Fear of Failure” candy lingered, not as a magical cure but as a reminder of the power of belief, whether in oneself or in something as fantastical as an Everlasting Gobstopper of Salvation. The city seemed different now, every corner potentially hiding another factory of dreams or delusions. But Jamie learned one thing for sure: in Los Angeles, even spiritual enlightenment could come with a price tag, and sometimes, the cost was your freedom.
And so, the Church of Scientology remained, a beacon for the lost, a trap for the unwary, and a satiric reminder that in the world of urban fantasy, the line between magic and madness was as thin as the wrapper on a chocolate bar.