Would you get a Tarot-card reading from a guy who called you an asshole? I did, and he was spot on.--- Last Thursday, I called up a guy I met on Craigslist who was offering free, first-time Tarot-card readings. Let’s call him Hank. Spoiler Alert: He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Here’s what went down ...

Hank: Hello?

Secret Handshake: Hi, is this Hank?

Hank: Yeah.

SH: This is Colin. I contacted you on Craigslist about the free Tarot card reading.

Hank: Oh, yeah. Hey.

SH: So, when can we do this thing?

Hank: How 'bout right now?

SH: I can’t meet up right now. How about later today?

Hank: My energy is good right now.

SH: What does that mean?

Hank: It means I can’t promise my energy will be good later.

SH: I’m not following you.

Hank: It means my energy won’t be as good.

SH: OK, but what does that mean? {long pause] Hello?

Hank: I’m not going to tell you.

SH: OK … umm, well, I’m a writer for City Weekly and I would like to do a story about the Tarot-card reading. Is that OK with you? If anything, it’ll probably send you some business.

Hank: (Long pause) I don’t fucking care what you do.

SH: What?

Hank: You shouldn’t have even told me what your fucking job is. I don’t care. You probably suck at what you do.

SH: Excuse me?

Hank: Are you one of those asshole investigative journalists or one of those writers who just talks a lot of shit? If you were any good at your job, you wouldn’t have told me that you were a writer.

SH: OK, Hank, I don’t care if I write this story or not. I was just being courteous by asking your permission. This story is supposed to be about Tarot cards and Tarot-card readers. So far, I think you are an asshole.

Hank: I’m sorry, you just kind of pissed me off in the beginning there.

SH: What? How did I do that?

Hank: I don’t know, all right? You just kinda threw me for a loop.

SH: You realize that you don’t know me and your coming across as a dickhead, right?

Hank: I’m sorry.

SH: How’s four o’clock?

Hank: That’s fine.

SH: Great, I’ll see you then.

When I put the phone down, my first thought was, “Why does this guy still want to meet me?” My second thought was, “Shit, what if he’s not psychic at all? What if he’s some serial clown rapist, or crackhead.” I immediately pictured Hank to be a combination of this …and this. 

After some thought, I decided I should have some backup on this one. So I called up my buddy Eric. 

SH: Eric?

Eric: Yeah.

SH: What are you doing right now?

Eric: Shit.

SH: Wanna roll with me into the ghetto to get a Tarot-card reading from a tweaker?

Eric: Absolutely.

I picked him up, and on the way to Hank’s house I gave him the rundown. “So, basically, this guy is an asshole,” replied Eric. “Yeah, or he’s really passionate about Tarot-card readings.” Eric gave me a puzzled look. “I don’t think so. I think he wants to kill you.”

We came to the conclusion that in case this thing got weird, we'd better have a game plan. Which, after some discussion, involved running, calling the cops, and if someone died, going to their house and deleting their computer’s browser history.

Even though the guy came across as an ass, I was pumped to see a psychic. I’ve been to one before and it was kinda fun. But that was almost a year ago and now I have a lot of questions, like … Does anyone read my blog? Will Glenn Beck ever get kicked in the plumbs? Should I invest in gold? Should I buy an iPad 2 or should I wait? When I die, what type of bear will I be resurrected as? How sick will I get if I eat a XXL Chalupa? Etc, etc.

Hank’s house was exactly how I pictured it, an old, run-down rental in the heart of the ghetto. “All right, you ready?” I asked Eric. He shrugged his shoulders. We walked up to the house and a kid was waiting on the front porch, lounging on a sun-bleached couch. “Hank?” I asked. “Hi,” said the tall, skinny, all-American white boy. “What the hell?” I thought to myself. “He’s just some punk kid.”

I was shocked and relieved to find out that A) I have a good chance of roundhousing my way out of this if it gets hairy, and B) he wasn’t some creepy old man. In fact, he looked a lot like this dingleberry.

I introduced Eric and he invited us in. He wanted to get right to it and didn’t want to waste any time with small talk. Hank got his Tarot cards out and told me to have a seat on the living room floor. He sat across from me, crossed his legs and began shuffling the deck.

“Before we get started, Hank, we need to clear something up,” I said. “What’s that?” “Why were you acting so messed up toward me?” “Hey, I’m sorry. I think I’m a little bi-polar and you caught me at a bad time. I apologize,” he said without taking his eyes off the cards.

“Yeah, you were a little grumpy earlier.”

“Yeah, but my energy is good now.”

I tried asking him several times how he got into Tarot-card reading, but he never gave me a clear answer. “Basically, I could always see and feel things better than other people You know, like in art.” I couldn’t disagree with this, because usually the only things I see in art are dicks or boobs.

Hank explained to me how his readings worked and I was a little bummed. He doesn’t do readings where you can ask questions about the future, he only reads the present and what could possibly happen in the future. As he puts it, “I only present options, and whether you choose to act on them or not is up to you.”

So after 20 minutes of card flipping and a shitload of questions from my end, he ended up telling me that I felt poor, but I hold the power of justice (I’m still not sure what that means). Also, he told me that I come from a hard-working pedigree and that if I allowed others to help me I could become super-powerful. He also said that if I don’t do anything and continue on this same path, I will become an almighty wizard, or something.

I wasn’t sure what to think of this. Yeah, I’ll admit I do feel poor and I’ve always had the inkling that someday I could end up as Magneto. But I felt like he was only telling me what I already knew and wanted to hear. Now I’m not dogging on psychics or Tarot-card readers. Are they legit? I don’t know. Is Hank an asshole? Yes. Is he really a psychic? Maybe.

I’m sure psychic readings can truly help some people. However, I just can’t bite. I don’t believe or trust anything. Shit, I think anyone who comes over to my house is trying to sell me something, especially these guys.

At the end of the reading, I asked Hank if this is his full-time job. He told me he used to work at American Eagle and that he’s a full-time student at the U. His parents help him out, and he’s just doing this for extra spending money.

Hank then looked down at the cards. “Huh, look at that,” he said. “What?” “All the numbers on the cards are facing towards you.” “What does that mean?” I asked. “It means that you already knew everything I told you today.” I looked up at Hank and he had a little smirk on his face. I felt like he was trying telling me something with his stupid psychic brain.“You see, Colin, you’re an asshole … and you know it.”

I squinted my eyes and looked back at him…“Fuck you, Hank.”