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know. I’ve been told that,” I replied, trying to be cute.
    “I can tell you right now, you will address me as ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘No, sir.’ Or ‘Mr. Curley.’ Nothing else.”
    “Oh. Right. Okay.”
    “Not ‘Oh. Right.’ ‘Right, sir.’ ”
    Nicole chimed in to say, “We don’t know the rules here.”
    “Well, you’re gonna have to figure them out, because I’m putting you in charge of the Sandcastle Hotel crew,” he said, looking at me.
    Me?
I was all of thirteen. Again, in Scientology children and adults are viewed equally. So it wasn’t odd to them that I might be in charge of some adults on my watch as well. I now had responsibilities that no teenager back in Brooklyn could imagine. I was learning something here in this weird environment that combined lots of freedom and lots of structure. Yeah, they made us do hard labor all day, but I was no longer being treated like a child.
    I rose to the occasion and did the job I was tasked with, and came up with a plan to reward my “crew.”
    If we got the Sandcastle cleaned in half the time, with good feedback from the guests via questionnaires they filled out, then the next day we could spend the other half of the day sitting on our asses at the pool. I was a boss running a crew and I was going to make some serious executive decisions. And I had read on my course that you reward good work. In my mind I was taking my orders directly from LRH.
    With the incentive of possible time off, the crew was motivated to clean better and faster. We got positive feedback from the guests and headed to the Sandcastle’s pool after we finished cleaning.
    We were all lying by the pool when Mike Curley walked by. He did a double take when he saw us.
    “What the hell are you doing?” he said, his face turning a deep shade of red.
    The thought that I might need to clear my plan with anybodyhadn’t even crossed my mind. I considered myself an executive of the Sea Org now.
    “I’ve read the policy—”
    “Get up, clean up all these deck chairs, and meet me at the dock,” he said, then stormed off.
    When we got down to the marina, Mike was waiting for us in a motorboat. After we crammed into the small boat, he started driving out of the marina and into the bay, into the real ocean. He was dead silent, his eyes in his weather-beaten face staring out at the horizon, until we were so far out that the marina was no longer visible. Then he cut the engine and started screaming at me.
    “Never do you sit in a public place. You are Sea Org members. Don’t you know that the pool at that hotel is for paying guests only, not for you to be enjoying?
    “Do you understand me?” he yelled.
    Actually, he was shouting so loud that I almost couldn’t decipher what he was saying. Was he even speaking English? I wasn’t sure.
    “Mm-hmm,” I said.
    “It’s ‘Yes, sir!’ ”
    I thought I was following LRH and rewarding my team. And I didn’t know who these paying Scientology people were, but I was a Sea Org member, a bad motherfucker from Brooklyn clearing the planet. So, just like I’d practiced with Nicole back home, I pushed down my emotions, got my TRs in, and stayed silent. I mean, maybe Mike didn’t know LRH had written me personally. That I had come back from another life?! Hello?
    Mike kept trying to get me to say “Yes, sir.” But I couldn’t do it.
    Then he picked me up and before I even realized what was happening, he threw me overboard.
    The shock of the moment and the freezing water took my breath away, and for an instant I thought I was going to drown. But I sputtered and began frantically dog-paddling.
    “Yes, sir!” Mike shouted.
    I couldn’t do it. The words just wouldn’t come out. Once Igathered myself, I became calm. The waves were choppy but I was okay, I could swim. I began to tread water. This had become a battle as far as I was concerned. Although I wasn’t sure if I would win.
    Mike, who was following a policy practiced by LRH called