Adventures in Fortune Telling (and Bars)

The Dating Experiments – Adventures in Fortune Telling (and Bars)

When I was twenty, a friend’s aunt insisted on giving me a fortune reading. She considers herself to have psychic powers – a gift she insists shouldn’t go to waste – and so in addition to her day job, she charges a low fee for what she calls “energy readings” on the side. I’d never had my fortune told, and I haven’t since, so I don’t know if what happened could be considered normal. Truthfully, all that I know about the practice has been learned from watching really awful television sitcoms, the ones where the main character goes to a plump woman with dreadlocks to find out if the person they’re dating is The One. They sit in a dimly lit room while the fortune teller stares at their palm or clutches one of their possessions, like a ring or watch, and says things like, “I’m getting a person with the letter Y. Is there anyone in your life whose name begins with Y?”

My fortune reading went nothing like that. My friend’s aunt (who I’ll call Auntie P) was eating lunch with us at a Thai restaurant when she suddenly reached her hand out and told me to put mine in hers. My friend knew immediately what was happening. She began explaining to me that Auntie P has a high rate of accuracy in predicting weddings, tragedies, and other unusual events.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

Auntie P shook her head. “You don’t need to believe, then. Just let me do this.”

Reluctantly, I put my hand in hers. Auntie P put her other hand on top and closed her eyes for a moment. Once or twice she rubbed her hands carefully over mine, as if trying to feel each of the bones. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked off to the side as she spoke. “You won’t meet the man you will marry for a long time,” she said, “maybe in your forties. But then you will be married soon after that. And you will be married for the rest of your life because you will die first.”

Auntie P made some other predictions, but I don’t remember most of them because I didn’t take anything she said seriously. I just nodded my head occasionally.

During my third and final attempt at sitting solo at a bar, I was doing just that: sitting solo. Following the routine of my second attempt, I dressed in clothes that were comfortable yet made me feel attractive, invited my friends to the venue for a quick drink and a few appetizers, and then shooed them out. Unlike my second attempt, instead of walking around the room, I stayed on my barstool.

According to my friend Christian, cruising the room was a bad idea because my constant movement discouraged guys from approaching me. “Stay in one place,” he advised. “Go to the bathroom if you have to, but don’t make too many trips. Guys don’t want to have to constantly search the room for the girl they think is cute. It’s just not worth it. They’ll move on to someone else.” Normally I don’t listen to Christian because he has a tendency to give what I view as useless advice (he once told me to wear overalls to attract men. I didn’t listen. Three months later I was single, and he blamed it on my refusal to follow his suggestion), but a few other friends, male and female, confirmed that what he said made sense. So I sat…and sat…and sat.

After an hour and a half, the bartender was the only one who talked to me. Unfortunately, “Want another?” doesn’t exactly qualify as good conversation.

I was considering leaving when a guy came over and asked if I had change for a five. “I don’t have singles to leave a tip,” he explained.

I counted out five ones and handed them over.

He thanked me and held out his hand. When I took it, he turned it over, palm side facing up, and said, “I read palms. Mind if I read yours?”

I thought of Auntie P. I said, “Sure. I hope you’re better than my last fortune teller. She didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear at all.” I said the last part jokingly.

The guy joked back, “All right. Deal. If your fortune sucks, I’ll lie.” He held my hand close to his face and studied its lines for a few seconds. “Actually, you have a very good fortune. I see marriage somewhere in here. That’s good, right? It means you won’t be alone in life. One kid. A daughter, I think, but late in life, when you’re married. Your marriage will be delayed, not for a while.”

“That sounds about right,” I told him, trying not to look confused. I had thought he was using the palm reading thing as an unusual pick-up strategy, but it wasn’t looking that way. Also, he was starting to sound a lot like Auntie P, which, I’m not going to lie, was kind of creepy. I began to walk away.

“Wait, I’m not finished.” He took my hand again and pointed to a thin line. “It also says right here that you will meet a handsome guy in a bar, and he will ask for your phone number.”

“Does it say I will give it to him?”

He looked back at the line. “Yes.”

“All right then.” I wrote it down on his palm.