Ever wondered what your future holds as you watch The Bachelor, drink wine and devour ketchup chips in a fleece onesie? Maybe you haven’t yet reached this low-point but wanting to see what your future has in store isn’t an unusual wish.
The psychic profession is one I’ve always been interested in mostly because everyone thinks its baloney and I love baloney. I suggested to my editor an article about a first-timer going to see a psychic and what the journey would entail. What I didn’t realize was that I would be confronted with just how little I knew about the world of extrasensory perception, resulting in enough baloney for a very epic mealtime.
My friend had visited a psychic as a joke. She entered as a skeptic but left convinced. The eccentric clairvoyant had knowledge of information about her no one could have known. While she recounted the tale of her mystical experience to our friends over drinks we laughed and hummed the theme song of That’s So Raven. But when she mentioned what this fortune teller had to say about her love life, everyone went silent. Though it might seem lame for adult women to fall for this it should be noted that for most girls at sleepovers between the ages of seven and 15, predictions about the future with regards to boys are serious business.
Remember finishing a game of M.A.S.H. and feeling slightly anxious about your future life married to Shrek, driving an ice cream truck and living on a ranch with 22 kids? I had to try this psychic thing out.
I set to work locating one. I looked on Kijiji, Craigslist, in the classified ads I even found out about the Waterloo Spring Psychic Fair this May. However, I learned psychics are very hard to get “in touch” with, both telepathically and over the phone. Once I “connected” with one, things got sketchier. I set up an appointment with Psychic Sally (name changed to protect from angry psychic voodoo magic) but a couple hours later Sally cancelled citing “unforeseen” reasons. It seems she didn’t note the irony of that statement.
At 4 a.m. the next morning Sally texted me saying that some “intuitions” she had meant the appointment was back on – she would call me in the morning. I called Sally and apologized for not getting back sooner, I had been in class.
“I knew that.” she replied. Psychic joke! She talked about things like positive energy and suggested maybe I had some psychic abilities myself. Then, Sally insisted I sign a contract stating I would only say nice things about her mystical foretelling. Suddenly the strong scent of baloney filled my nostrils, it seemed extremely odd that Sally needed legal assurance that I would believe in what she does. I had to cancel our appointment.
So that’s the story of how I failed to bring you any new and exciting information about the lives of psychics. I never got my future told, but I will continue to use my many ingenious strategies for cheating at M.A.S.H. to predict a future in which I drive a Mercedes, marry Ryan Gosling and live in a gigantic mansion.
And should my abilities continue to improve you may even see me with a booth at the psychic fair in May.