======== Subject: Preliminary picket report, San Diego, 9/11/99 From: Xenubat@primenet.com (Bat Child (Sue M.)) Date: Sun, 12 Sep 1999 06:01:41 GMT Message-ID: <37dc408a.6540897@news.primenet.com> Barb and I did a picket of the San Diego org from about 4:00-5:30 pm today. I will write a full report tomorrow some time, as right now I have a raging migraine! :-( I'd rather wait till I feel better before doing a full report. Bye for now. Sue, SP4(:), listed on the Scieno Sitter list 5 times! -- http://www.primenet.com/~xenubat "It will take a *long* time to find another enemy with the combination of evil and incompetence you see in Scientology."--Keith Henson ======== Subject: picket report, San Diego, 11 Sept. 1999 From: barb Date: Sun, 12 Sep 1999 09:49:11 -0700 Message-ID: <37DBD987.DE0D4646@pacbell.net> Saturday, 11 September 1999 T-shirt: Scientology Kills reversed so the OTIII showed. Wore a vest to hide the Scientology Kills. I walked down to meet Xenubat at the trolley station around 1:30. We were to meet another critic from Orange County at 1:40 at the nearby train station, but the train didn't come in until 2:30, and the critic wasn't on it. When we got back to my place there was a message from him saying he'd slept in until 2:00!! We started hiking to the org around 3:30, armed with signs and fliers. Xenubat's sign asked if the Bridge really cost $360,000, the reverse was a Space Alien Scam sign. My sign, which I'd thrown together that morning (hint: print out text at 400 pt. font, works great!) said, 'Omigod! Scientology Killed Kenny' and a graphic of Kenny on one side, and 'Ron is gone, but the con lives on' on the reverse. We had Lisa and Xenu fliers, along with some Bowfingers. We unwrapped our signs just south of the org, and walked past it to the corner, where our signs were more visible. There was hardly any foot traffic, but plenty of cars, and we collected our share of honks and thumbs up for about an hour undisturbed, until a woman drove by and gave us a thumbs down; after which she pulled into the org parking lot. "Uh-oh," I said to Xenubat. "We're busted!" Sure enough, a couple of guys came out of the org and hung around by the door, staring at us. Just as they emerged, a car came down 4th Avenue. The driver honked at us, raised his fists, and yelled, "Yeah!" Presently, we were approached by a young German man who came from the org. We offered him fliers, which he accepted. He then asked us who was paying us. "The psychs!," I said. "The psychs are paying us. Or is it the Marcab Federation this month?" I can't keep track; between the Marcab palladium, the checks from the psychs, and Minton bucks, it's no wonder my finances are in confusion! "Be careful of the aliens," warned the German with a smile. "They're everywhere!" Mmmm...guess he hasn't reached OTIII yet. And, speaking of OTs, a fellow in a Chrysler convertible pulled up along side us on Ash, after aiming his car straight towards me. I was wondering if I was going to have to jump out of the way, when he pulled over. He asked about the space aliens, whereupon I gave him a quick and dirty rendition of Xenu and the space cooties. He took three fliers, and then told us he and his wife (who was riding shotgun) were OTIVs, and denied paying $360,000 for the priviledge. At this point, one of my BTs snickered that here he was, actually proud of being scammed by Hubbard's machine! That darn BT pointed out that it was similar to paying for the opportunity to eat a pound of horse-pucky and bragging about it. He said his children were being raised in the cult as well. I felt a pang of sympathy for his kids, being raised in an unrealistic environment with no preparation for the real world. He seemed to expect a response of some sort, so I asked him if he could fry me with a thought with his OT powerzz. The second time I asked, he replied, "I don't want to." Typical clam response to a yes or no question. I wish I'd asked him why Heber, an OT8, still wore glasses, but I forgot. As he drove on down Ash, he threw the fliers out of his car. I, ever the civic minded, picked them up. I know he thought he was expressing contempt by throwing the fliers, but in the real world, what he was doing was demonstrating his disdain of the neighborhood in which his "church" resides by littering. Yeah, 'most ethical people on the planet,' my ass! It is said that water seeks its own level. I'm sure he will feel more at home when they move to 7th Avenue; it's a seedy area just full of discarded fast food wrappers and humanity, and this OT will fit right in. His nice car, on the other hand, won't last an hour. It sure is shiney! There were a few highlights during our first hour. A black SUV pulled up full of young people on their way to the Street Scene music festival downtown. "Where's Omigod?" the driver asked me. "Huh?" I said. "Your sign. Where's Omigod?" Oh, I get it now. Omigod! I yell. They killed Kenny! They thought the sign was funny, and took some fliers. A video team from Helix High School approached us, and said they were lucky to find us, as they were doing a school project on cults. They taped me while I rambled on, Hubbardlike, relating the many facets of the Scientology construct. At the end of a five minute interview, they gave me a big foam hand and asked me to say, "Go Helix!" I donned the foam hand and gave a quick warning to the students heading to college. I told them that the cult preys on the lonely, isolated, and vulnerable. "Beware the free personality test!" I said. "Stay away from Dianetics and Scientology! And, by the way, "Go Clairemont!!!" (my alma mater) That got me some snickers from the video team! Our one non-clam passerby came up and asked for a flier. "I hate these guys. I don't know anything about 'em, but I hate 'em!" A beat up gray sedan came bombing down Ash, and the driver hollered, "We know who you are!" as he went by. Shift change at the org, I guess. The thumbs down lady, the Chrysler OTIV, and the grey sedan all came by around 5:00. After the German returned to the org, the watchers by the door went in too, probably to disinfect the icky wog fliers we'd given him. At this point we'd been there for an hour and a half, I was tired, Bats was fighting a migraine, so we decided to slip away. The clams had only just discovered us 30 minutes prior, and Zinj once told me it takes about 45 minutes to get the proper handling staff in. I didn't feel like being handled. We left via the street behind the org; we didn't want to play stupid games with stalkers on the way home. I took us through the Civic Center plaza, it's a big open area with no room for stalkers to hide. We parked it at Downtown Johnny Brown's for a refreshment break, and sat on the patio where we could monitor the traffic through the plaza. A Heinecken for Xenubat, and a G&T for me. I'd just returned with our drinks when the party of men at the next table asked, "What's with this space alien stuff?" Turns out, they had seen us picketing, and one guy had yelled, "Kenny always gets the shit," but I hadn't understood him as he drove by. We loaded them up with fliers and tales from the cult. They were pretty entertained by it all. We stayed there for probably an hour. There were no culties about, and lots of foot traffic, so we hoisted our signs and had a little parade back to my loft. Gave out a few fliers to interested passersby on the way, but we weren't finished yet. A couple of guys got into the elevator with us and asked about the signs. We had a nice chat on the way up, and gave them some fliers, too. Later, I walked Xenubat to the bus station on Broadway, which is necessary. I always escort my guests, as Broadway isn't a nice area. We chatted with a fellow at the bus stop who was listening to us talk about our day. We gave him some fliers as well. It's interesting to note that we gave out more information at the bar and walking down the street than we did at the org. The clams were pretty friendly, despite having a total disregard for littering laws, and they didn't seem too interested in bothering us much, which was nice. I wasn't in much of a mood to be fucked with yesterday. It's curious that the lady behind the counter at the org didn't register that we were picketers as we walked past the office with our signs. She saw us, I know she did. She looked right at us and didn't see us. We must be Clear, no? I sure hope she didn't get in trouble for allowing an hour long picket right under her nose, snicker. You'd think they'd have picked up our suppressive vibes churning in from our little corner of the street, but no. No OT powerzz there! I can't wait until they move! Seventh Avenue has a lot more foot and vehicular traffic, and our pickets will have much more impact. It's interesting to note that, in the San Diego phone directory, the Co$ is listed as being on C Street. That was their location in the '70s, again in a seedy neighborhood. They rose in affluence and moved to their current location. Now, it appears, their star is descending, and they're moving back from whence they came, the foul, trash choked gutters of San Diego's version of the Tenderloin. And we'll be there, wherever they go, shining the spotlight of entheta on the pale, squirming things that seek the concealment of their lies. -- barb "If Lisa McPherson had been buried with pennies on her eyes, someone from the Church of Scientology would have been sent there to steal them." -Ceon Ramon