Tuesday, June 18, 2013

On Seeing A Psychic

I have some unconventional interests. I'm sure I worried about whether or not they would be considered normal at one point. I keep that information next to all the fucks I don't give about people who think my hobbies are weird...right in there with my tarot cards. Its full in that drawer, let me tell you.

Recently, I had a birthday and for some time, I have been wanting to go to a psychic for my birthday. The plan was simple - I would get together with a few friends, head out to maybe a hotel room we stocked with wine and goodies and have a psychic come to us or we'd head out, get our palms read and then have cocktails and laugh about it afterwards, sharing what we heard and secretly hoped to be true or not.

Good so far?

This started to work out. Then it went horribly awry. The psychics in my area all close up shop on Saturdays at 6 pm. Early Wiccan dinners? I don't know.  Seems like a bad idea to close up shop before all the people have had a chance to get a glass of wine and the courage to hear that their life line has too many breaks in it!

Finally after driving around for a while and heading to yet another place that may or may not be open, we see a sign: Palm Readings $10. It was a sign- a big one! I'm feeling spiritually open, so I take it to mean that we should definitely go here. This is why the other ones didn't work out, right? Never mind that this is a sign on the back wall of a drive through Mexican restaurant parking lot. Probably still legit, right? We call. She answers. We can come in one at a time.

I jumped out of my car like it was on fire, told the ladies I'd be right back. I hot foot it to the door of a ramshackle house in a terrible neighborhood as twilight starts turning dark. Its dim in the room and I talk to a young woman for a few minutes who seats me on a sofa. No table, no beaded curtain, no paraphernalia that would suggest "psychic"... she goes to look at my hand after a minute and I'm thinking...how are you going to see it? In the only move she will make that seems clairvoyant in the slightest, she turns on a lamp. Then I realize she is VERY young. Maybe 16, 17 years old tops. She is wearing FUCKING BRACES. Oh dear.

So we do a short palm reading. She tells me a few things I could have learned on a website. She has no imagination. I have only been to one other psychic, but I tend to go into this mode where I don't want to give anything away, I don't want them to "know' me, I want them to 'get' me and so I am vague with her. I do tell her that I am married, my age and my first name, as she asked me the last two and I suppose she guessed that I am married (I took off my rings before she opened the door). She asks if I have children, but tells me nothing about the marriage or children part. She finally asks me if I work and what I do. Its starting to feel like she wants me to do this for her.

Eventually I give up. The room almost seemed brighter the second I realized that there was really no hope whatsoever in this exchange with her. I thank her and go to pay, and of course she has no change.

Who in the world has a 6 foot by 8 foot sign on the side of their house next to a busy street corner with a restaurant to advertise their services and has NO change? I give her the $20 and tell her to keep it. I tell her I will let the girls know she is ready. I head to the car. I had asked her name, knowing full well I will have no reason to use it ever again. Plus its a name I dislike, so that adds to the dissatisfaction of dropping some cash onto a total fraud.

Once back in the car, I tell them that I over paid, that she is in high school and that there is no point in going in there unless you want to fund her cell phone bill. They decide wisely to hold onto their money and that we will just do this again some other time. The night ended spectacularly well though, as my friend had us back to her house where she had prepared wonderful food and cake and sangria and was just generally the gracious hostess she always is. I owe her big.

You would think I would learn my lesson. You would be wrong. I love this shit, people. I eat it up. I have no excuse, and I won't think one up for you. Its tacky and terrible but the minute I meet a psychic who believes their own shit, I smell their patchouli and hear them shuffle their cards, talk in a slow soft speaking voice that feels like they are imparting some ancient secret while they handle my palm like a crystal ball, I will be in gaudy hippie heaven. This experience was terrible, but like a gambling addict-I'm just sure the next one will be great.

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