“Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone please leave your name number and reason for calling and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks and have a wonderful day.”
“Hello this is Ben Holcomb but I’m sure you already knew that. I was just calling to make an appointment though again I must be preaching to the choir here. My number is who am I kidding? Just call me back when you get a … you know what I’ll just see you when I see you.”
And so my trip to the psychic began.
Over spring break I went to the psychic in an attempt to find out what all the fuss was about — and by fuss I mean the fortune telling system older than Rome that’s strong enough to survive the bad press of Miss Cleo “Kazaam” and the movie “Big combined. Admittedly, the fuss about psychics has died out a little bit over the last 150 years or so, but nevertheless I felt it was my duty to endure the experience for all 3,200 Pepperdine students wary of stepping into a 3-by-4 glorified closet with a self-proclaimed clairvoyant. And boy, was it an experience.
When I first sat down with the psychic in what I can only assume was once her coat closet, I felt a sense of unease. Some may have chalked it up to the oversized Pee-Wee Herman chair engulfing me, or even the faux fireplace that looked older than astrology itself. But for me, the anxiety more or less came out of a lack of interest in dabbling in the dark arts. Upon questioning, the woman assured me that I could draw my own conclusions and, for what it’s worth, she was Catholic.
That makes me feel better I said as my mind flashed back to my Catholic high school and the ritual paddle beatings I received from my Latin teacher — affectionately known as Attila the Nun” — for confusing the first and second verb conjugations.
As my reading began I was asked to shuffle the tarot cards three times and then pick out any 20. Immediately I began to panic; I love poker but I play online and never learned how to shuffle a deck. I knew I was going to look like a fool and I hate doing basic arithmetic in front of people. I began to drip beads of sweat but for none of the reasons I previously predicted — thus the reason I needed to see a psychic. I awkwardly cut the deck thrice like a 4-year-old and then always eager to live on the edge chose the top 20 cards on the deck.
She told me to put two back since I had selected 22.
Mentally I slapped my forehead and called myself horrible names but ostensibly I just returned two cards to the original deck.
The first words out of her mouth were “It looks like you’re going to have a long life ahead of you and be very healthy.” A good start. “And it appears that you’re going to be very successful in the future … in fact you’re going to hit it big in the next six months.” Go on …
“It appears you may not have gotten along with someone in your extended family growing up.”
“Wait go back to the good stuff I thought. Didn’t always get along? Isn’t that the Merriam-Webster’s definition of a family? Show me someone who has never fought with a person they’ve lived under the same roof and gone on road trips with for 18 years, and I’ll show you TLC’s Duggar family, but everyone knows they’re on anomaly.
And so the broad generalities of a cold reading began, all the while I drifted off and fantasized about the first two things she had said — after all that’s about all I needed. As long as the cards didn’t prophetically shout Hit by bus at age 25″ or “Drives Segway off cliff I was good.
I began asking about specific members of my family, and she began telling me that the cards said I worried too much about my family.
I asked about my brother: He’ll be fine she said. I asked about my sister Mary Elizabeth and her burgeoning relationship with the new beau of hers, and that’s when the red flags came. Your sister is unhappy. Her relationship is not as picturesque as you think or that she makes it out to be. She’s been hurt in relationships in the past and you need to be there for her more.”
A deep sense of guilt overcame me and my head slumped down toward the legs of the Pee-Wee Herman chair. She apologized for the tough news and wished me the best as she showed me out. I shook her hand thanked her for her time and promised to support my sister Mary through her tough months ahead. As I walked out I noticed her diploma from Hogwarts or whatever institution trains psychics these days. On the bottom was a disclaimer that read: “For Entertainment Purposes Only.” It seems like that kind of goes against the whole idea of studying to get a diploma for this.
I left the psychic with a profoundly new outlook on life. Did she see my future? Who knows. But she did provide me with the catalyst I profoundly needed to mend my relationship with my sister. Before starting the car in the parking lot I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts in an attempt to ring my sister Mary.
There was only one problem: I don’t have a sister.