posted on Sep, 30 2017 @ 08:50 PM
My weird story (or story of weirdness):
A number of years ago, a good friend of mine was active in the “psychic consulting” circles in our region; he didn’t really buy into the Mumbo
Jumbo/Spirits aspect that the “blue hairs” were so into, he was an expert “reader” of people. NEVER play poker with someone with THAT
Anyway, this one time I had joined him and his fellow “consultants” at local Denny’s for a Saturday lunch. What most people may not realize is
that your typical “psychic”, of this type, is very often highly competitive when amongst his/(or more usually) her peers. This particular group,
my friend excluded, took to demonstrating their “abilities” for the hapless server; a young guy of mid-twenties, more interested in earning a
decent tip than having his “fortune” told.
I should have said that the “weird sisters” attempted to impress the poor kid, since their generalized “insights” were consistently
correct in only the vaguest aspect.
Frustrated, this group of five or six middle-aged women then turned my friend, to challenge his “powers”.
Accepting the challenge, or so I thought, he asked the server for his wallet, assuring the kid that it never leave the server’s sight.
To my shock, upon receiving the wallet, he immediately hands it to me, saying “Here, tell him what you see.”
Without opening the wallet, just holding it in my two hands, in my mind’s eye I immediately see myself rushing down a two lane country road, bright
daylight, a three-string barbed wire fence on my right, dry grass stretching beyond the fence. I relay this image to the waiter.
His jaw drops. “That’s were I crashed my bike (motorcycle)! How did you...?”
Still holding his wallet, I interrupt him.
“There’s something, well, “hot?” in your wallet. A series of numbers I can’t read what they are, but they’re written in dark ink on a
piece of yellow paper.”
His shock immediately turns to complete confusion.
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t remember putting anything like that in there.”
The busy-biddies immediately take the wallet out of my hands and, with his permission, thank goodness, begin searching through it.
At first they find nothing but the usual, the satisfaction on their faces obvious as “the upstart” (me) is about to be served crow instead of the
clam chowder I had ordered.
Then something falls out of the now-gutted wallet; a folded slip of yellow legal pad paper. “High-Priestess” unfolds the paper and on it is a
phone number written in Black felt pen!
She crows “Oh! Look! What’s this?”
Now I’m the one who is in total shock.
The server takes the paper, looks at it, and his eyes open wide in surprise “Whoa! It’s my old girlfriend’s phone number! I thought I had lost
My friend leans over to me and says, so that only I could hear
“I knew you could do it.”