I hear myself telling the Uber driver that I’ve written a play about genetic engineering and I’m just on my way to watch it.
He is quiet for a moment, then he says You know scientology?
And I say …yes.
And he says That started with a book.
And I say Ok.
And he says So when genetic engineering is everywhere, I’ll know who to blame.
Either he’s joking or his faith in the power of the written word is truly admirable. Perhaps both.
I say Oh right, so it’ll be my fault?
And he says Yeah, I’m going to remember your name. And when it’s all over the world I’ll say that I knew you first.
And I say Oh cool, so you’ll want to join my cult?
He pauses, then sets his eyes firmly on the road. Then he says quietly No, I don’t think so.
A version of this post was sent by email on the 20th October 2019 as part of Internet Care Package – a weekly memoir project in the form of a newsletter. It also includes links to the best things I’ve found on the internet each week and occasional updates on my theatremaking. This blog is a select archive of those emails. Subscribe to get them right in your inbox.
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