…in Dallas, TX. See, these hurricanes came through and obliterated parts of the Texas coast and The Company tapped everyone’s favorite Insurance Guy (me) to go to Texas to handle the car insurance claims. There is a small army of us nestled safely away in Dallas from the mayhem just southeast of Houston. 12 hour days, 6-day work weeks, etc. but that’s not what I’m going on about. What I am going on about is the extra moolah from all the overtime and perdiem pay and stuff. Burning a hole in my wallet, so when I was driving past a band of displaced Houston-area gypsies I thought it would be a lark to pull over and respond in the affirmative to their roadside solicitation for sooth-saying services. The palm-reading chick was probably smokin’ hot back in 1947, but today she’s looking pretty, uh, wise and mystical. Anyways, I hand her the $20 and she gazes deep into the universe that is my calloused paw and proceeds to tell me all about my past. She was pretty good, but hey, parlor tricks and all that so I just took it all with a grain of salt. For the 15-20 minutes it was actually a pretty fun experience so I handed her another $10 in the way of a tip. She smiled broadly, and thanked me profusely. So I punched her right in the forehead and drove home. A very satisfying day.
Umm… you punched her? I bet she didn’t see that fortune coming.
So, what did she tell you?
I was in New Orleans on a business trip about, oh, 13 years ago, and had some free time before my flight out. So, after having a coffee at the Café du Monde (“The coffee is strong at the Café du Monde, the donuts are too hot to touch”), I wandered down Bourbon Street in search of a palm reader. Hey, when in Rome, right?
I’m fully aware of the skills of a cold reader, so I made a point of keeping my face impassive and unresponsive as she did the reading. She told me that the next year of my life would be full of change and upheaval, but not in a negative way, just lots of newness. I didn’t tell her until the end that I was engaged to be married in less than 5 months, at which point I planned to quit my job and move to Europe.
I did not, however, punch her in the forehead or anywhere else, so I suppose my story isn’t really all that relevant.
Whenever the medium does her job well and seems pleased with herself it is always best to punch or slap her. It’s the oldest wisom, I’m surprised that so many people eschew this practice.
Ok Inigo, enough. Just say it!
I got the OP immediately. It makes me both proud and sad.
So when they spit on you are you supposed to spit back?
No, I don’t think that’s technically the same as stricking a happy medium.
Dammit, I did it wrong again.
I didn’t. And still don’t.
I was thinking more along the line of never trust a psychic you have to make an appointment to see. :smack:
Years ago in NYC, I was sitting in a cafe with a friend having lunch and an old woman came in from the street, sat directly next to me and said, “I will tell you your fortune for $1.00.” (Cheap even for those days.)
I said, “Sure.”
For the next five minutes, she did an amazing job.
She knew I was the middle of three children, that I had lived in Europe and would be moving back there, that I was a teacher and writer, that I would be involved in films in a few years and that I would find the love of my life in a foreign country. There were a few more statements, but every one of them came true. I was more than surprised, but my friend was flabbergasted! He asked if she would tell his fortune. She looked at him and said, “No.”
Then she got up and left.
I had never been in that part of NYC before (so I doubt she overheard any conversation I had had walking down the street) and even my friend didn’t know some of the things she mentioned, so he could not have set her up to do it.
My current partner of 27 years had a similar thing happen to him in Spain and was told, among other things, that he would meet the love of his life, an American. His two friends sitting with him that day still like to recall that day and the accurate predictions!
BTW, have never had my fortune told since then and have no desire to do so. Once was fun, but enough.