Long ago, in my twenties, I dated a Scientologist. He was fairly high up in the org, I guess. Whenever I went to his house he was always dragging out a device that looked like two tin cans connected by wires, and asking me to — I don’t remember the term — submit to something like “deprogramming” me. I always refused. When he talked about Scientology, he got that blank cult-like stare in his eyes, otherwise, he seemed fairly normal. I do know he spent a lot of money on “courses.”
