When my friend Maria asked if anybody wanted to join her at a psychic fair, I jumped at the chance. She was writing a paper about pseudoscience and decided she could get a better handle of the subject by attending the fair.
I'll admit, I'm fiercely skeptical when it comes to all things paranormal. There are reasonable explanations for things that seem to have no explanation. See the Virgin Mary's visage on a piece of toast? It's just pareidolia. Hear spooky moans from the attic? Could be expansion and contraction of the floorboards. Abducted and anally probed by aliens and afterwards left naked in a cornfield? Might want to stop drinking yourself blind at frat parties.
In the 1920s, Harry Houdini made it his quest to debunk psychics and mediums. My mission wasn't as lofty as his. But I was curious about the psychic fair, and I was amazed that there would be a fair specially catered to psychics.
When we got to the fair, though, I was confused. Where was the psychic Ferris wheel, the psychic merry-go-round? Where was the delicious food stand that sells psychic cotton candy? What kind of psychic fair is held indoors at the La Quinta Inn?
After begrudgingly handing over my $6 entry fee, I stepped into the hall filled with stalls that were operated by old hippies wearing gaudy looking outfits and kitschy jewelry. It was like a reception at a Grateful Dead concert.
For starters, we sat in for a yearly prophecy by a woman named Kat who, according to the flyer, predicted the 1995 earthquake in Kobe, Japan, and the "tu-sami" (her pronunciation) in Sri Lanka. Among her many prognostications, she predicted a natural disaster that may happen in Los Angeles and that Dick Cheney may die from his next heart attack. Almost all her predictions were peppered with "mays."
Next, Maria had her fortunes divined from a tarot deck. The psychic, a wild-eyed woman, stared at overturned cards and made vague references to Maria's life. Poor dumb naive Maria. Her eyes were as wide as the psychic's. "How did you know that?" She asked.
"It's all written in the cards," was the reply.
It took all my willpower to stop from rolling my eyes. It was a classic cold reading, a tried-and-true method often used to convince the rube that the reader knows much more about a subject than he or she actually does.
After payment, Maria suggested I get my future told. "Can't we just go for some Chinese," I said, clutching my near-empty stomach, "and get the fortune cookies instead? At least, you can say 'in bed' at the end of every fortune."
Maria pushed me away to a fortune teller, whose rates were much cheaper, which isn't saying much. The words "Bright Eyes" were written on her nametag. Before I could ask if she was a fan of Conor Oberst, she grabbed my hands as she attempted to delve into my "spirit self."
"It seems your left hand is higher than the right. Do you feel it levitating?" she asked. "The left hand is representative of the feminine side. It means you have a strong female intuitive side to you."
I wanted to punch her in the mouth, regardless of her gender.
"This means you are popular with the girls."
Ah. Well, fine, but that's more like a description than a prediction. I mean, I am smooth with the ladies.
"And I'm getting a very interesting reading from you. Do you like magic?"
Do I? I love magic.
"Well, it seems you have the making of a great magician. You'll perform magic shows for children. In fact, it seems you even have the power to heal."
At this point, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed to slits as though she was trying to tease something tangible from my already sweaty palms.
"I see ... your ancestor. He's Chinese. Long wispy white hair that reaches to his shoulders. Wears long robes. It's Confucius, and he wants you not to forget your roots."
Wow. I wasn't sure if I should have been offended or amazed. First, she described my ancestor as a generic Chinese male in China of yore, and second, what are the odds that said ancestor also happened to be the famous philosopher of The Analects?
At the end of the reading, she looked at me like she had fed the homeless. She gave me a big hug, and with a warm smile, she wished me luck.
That's the reason why people go to psychics - to feel good about themselves. Many people see mediums because they're scared of the future, and they need to hear that the path that lies ahead is paved with goodness and rose petals.
I did leave the psychic fair with that feeling, even though my fortune - if you could call it that - wasn't as enlightening as I thought it would be. But I left feeling light, like I was traipsing on clouds.
But maybe it was just because of my empty wallet.
Cheong is a screenwriting graduate student.
