At one of the last remaining video stores in America, I asked a real live human who stood behind the counter to help me find the 2006 Almodóvar film Volver that I’d been looking for. He smiled and directed me to the foreign films section. A few minutes later, I returned to the check-out counter empty handed. Tarantino’s film Jackie Brown (1997) was playing on a television near the ceiling, behind this man, and in front of rows and rows of DVDs and VHS tapes. In the Tarantino film, gunshots signaled the end of something.
The video store guy smiled at me, his white hair parted to the left side, a youthful smile on his 50-year-old face. He asked me if ‘I found what I was looking for,’ instead of ‘found everything alright.’ I told him I liked the way he asked me that, that the idea of ‘finding what you were looking for’ was far more valuable an experience than just ‘finding everything alright.’ He smiled again, his pearly white teeth matching his wispy white hair. I thanked him, but told him that I didn’t find what I was looking for. I left, hoping I would find everything alright.
“Signs & Portents”, Fortuneteller sign on Barracks Row, Washington DC. Photo: Mike Licht.
The next day, I took a bus to Wicker Park, a hip neighborhood in Chicago, and sold books that I no longer needed to a disgruntled, skinny white guy wearing black-frames who worked at Myopic Books. In exchange for my books, he offered me two clean, crisp $20 dollar bills. I grabbed them, left the store, and walked half-a-block to Mystic Tarot. I ascended the dank stairs of this psychic boutique, which was located off the the “six corners” intersection of Damen, Milwaukee and North, and known for its high number of car accidents. I was visiting the psychic because I wanted to know what my future looked like, and I was prepared to pay a complete stranger to answer this obviously impossible question. But this is what I am looking for, I told myself, and so I continued up the stairs.
I entered into a room that felt like the reception area of a cheap motel. Reeking of incense, this “psychic parlor” was covered in a light-purple shag carpet. The thin golden window shades were drawn, sheltering the rotund psychic from the bright sun. A giant flat-screen TV located near the window reflected the glow of that “tarot readings” neon sign. On the screen, a wave continuously crashed against a fake shore; the accompanying music echoed the apparent dramatic tension of crashing water. A tiny white dog scuttled toward me, barking aggressively, and then the psychic meandered out from behind a cloaked doorway, welcoming me into her palace.
“May I help you?” she asked inquisitively, her blue eyes blazing as if seized by the spirit of this establishment.
“I’m looking for a tarot reading,” I said. “I mean, I’d like to get a tarot reading. Do you do them?”
“Yes, we do,” she said, her voice soothing and mysterious. She was referring to herself as “we” instead of “me,” which was fine with me but still a bit jarring. She motioned for me to follow her behind the hanging cloak, and offered me a seat. She explained that a complete year forecast tarot spread would cost me $40, a specific question tarot reading went for $20 and for only $10 she could do a past, present, future reading on a specific topic.
“So which would you like?” she asked, politely at first.
Then suddenly she started getting impatient, adding: “We don’t have all day.”
The tiny guard dog ceased its barking. The music on the flat-screen TV intensified a bit more, signaling that it was time for the reading to begin.
“I’ll do the full reading for $40,” I said abruptly, before the TV wave could crash again. I whipped out the two fresh $20s that I had just acquired at Myopic Books.
The psychic asked me to quickly shuffle the cards, and then hand them back to her. After three shuffles she cut me off, telling me that it was time to read. First she pulled number 13, the Death card; then she threw out the rest of the cards in rapid succession.
“Wait, what are you reading for me? I thought this was about relationships?” I asked.
“No, this is a full-year spread for $40. You just paid for the forecast spread, not a specific question,” she reminded me, her eyes going electric blue again as she spread the cards.
“We see that there is a lot wrapping up for you this year,” she said. “I see a relationship coming to an end.”
“Wait, what? No, I think we might work things out,” I said, hesitantly. I wanted the cards to be wrong.
“You have to let this person go, honey,” the psychic said. Then, sensing that this was a sensitive subject, she added a softer touch: “You will let them go eventually.”
The dog started yelping again as the wave crashed. The psychic picked up her pace.
“I am seeing lots of travel for you this coming year,” she said. “I am seeing New York and Los Angeles, and Washington D.C. Do you know anyone in Washington D.C.?”
“No, I don’t know anyone in D.C., but I could definitely see something happening in New York and Los Angeles,” I said.
“OK, let’s move on. I see you are going to meet someone and this is the person you will share your life with!” she said, her cheeks turning red. “And also I see schooling opportunities later in 2015, and a move in September.”
At this point I was getting into it, liking the idea that some cards could predict what was going to happen. This psychic universe seemed like an intriguing symbolic game, and I liked to play.
“I am seeing that you are very healthy through 2015. No health problems. I also see opportunities for schooling,” she said.
“That’s nice,” I replied, gazing at her assortment of variously colored crystals. “You already mentioned the schooling. Umm . . . what else is ‘in the cards’?”
“Well honey, I wish I could tell you but we’ve reached the end of the cards,” she explained. “There aren’t anymore here.”
I looked at her empty hands, and then at my watch. Only 10 minutes had passed.
“Wait, that’s it? For what I just paid you? To tell me that there aren’t any more cards?!” I said, annoyed.
“Yes, please come back anytime sweetheart, you’re a beautiful girl! May all your dreams come true!” she said, quickly piling the cards back together before I could even start asking about individual symbols and arrangements. The barking dog got louder as the epic adventure music on the forever cresting waves of the flat-screen TV crashed to the shore again.
“You’re a beautiful girl!” she said again, ushering me out. “Please, if you ever want to talk again just come back and ask for me. I’m Clarissa. Goodbye for now!”
The aggressively barking dog escorted me to the stairs as the soundtrack concluded. Clarissa bid farewell as I descended, back out onto the busy street, enchanted by this brief encounter.
Psychic work and Tarot reading are a business, and though it’s often times filed under “self help” or cautioned against as “not a replacement for therapy,” this type of walk-in psychic store is best considered as pure entertainment, a name-your-own-adventure with cards. I left the scene feeling pleased, like I was a character I could believe in, a performance I’d practiced for and knew how to play.
Crystal Paradise is a weekly column published every Tuesday by Los Angeles-based writer Alicia Eler that navigates the naturally occurring weirdnesses that spark at the intersection of art, technology and travel.
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