I grew up in a fundamentalist church culture that demanded outward performance, to the detriment of genuine faith. Because my brain didn't work like other Christians I knew, I learned to blend in and keep my mouth shut.
It was a great job. It paid a whopping $2 per hour--minimum wage. We reported to the county prison camp every morning, sharpened our nails, filled up the ice chest, and jumped on the red prison bus with bars on the windows. People stared at us as we rode around town, wondering what we did to deserve this.