Fortune Telling

I'm reading Searching for Caleb by Anne Tyler. The main character is a fortune teller. It triggered my memories of having my fortune told.

I do not believe in fortune telling, but I've experienced some coincidences that did not change my opinion but made me a bit less sceptical. It's fun to think about.

My mother invited a fortune teller and a few friends to have their fortunes told. The fortune teller was a man in his middle forties dressed in weekend casual. We were all seated in the living room on the couch and in regular chairs. We sipped wine and ate the nibblies, my mother had created.

He had nothing for me, but he told Betty she needed to change her job. She worked as a receptionist for a car dealer, had no holidays, no sick leave and low pay.

He spent the most time with a man who asked if his plans would work. The yes was unqualified. 

Three days later my mother called to tell me the man had kidnapped his daughter from his ex-wife and the police thought they might be in The Netherlands. I never found out what happened after that.

Three work colleagues and I went to a fortune teller for fun. 

She asked me who Jimmy was.

"My father."

"You call him Jimmy, not dad, papa or father. You are worried about his health."

I did call him by his name and had talked to him earlier. He was just back from Jamaica where he had been taken ill.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine."

He was.

The next experience was years later. I was living in Boston and had a Yugoslavian exchange student. I'd been mailing dozens and dozens of CVs to companies in Europe. 

It was a hot July day when we went to her house in Marblehead. A breeze from the Atlantic was welcomed.

She lived in a basement flat of a two-story house that was welcoming, modern and beautiful. She, herself, wore a shirtwaist dress. Her hair was a stylish shoulder length cut. I suspect she was younger than I was.

She didn't ask me any questions, but launched into a prediction that she could see a major change in my life and she could see me in a building with green shutters.

The next morning I faxed a CV to a Swiss company. Within minutes, I had a phone call. After a series of lengthy conversations where the company's owner determined my German was weak and my French limited to bonjour and au revoir, he asked for references. 

I was later told that my former colleague, the CFO where I'd worked for years, gave me a glowing reference. My only drawback was that I wasn't very tall.

The next weekend I was on my way to Geneva.

Approaching the building where the company was located, I saw its green shutters.

I got the job and moved to Switzerland in September.

Maybe the green shutters had given me confidence, but my future boss said it was because I washed the tea cups, showing that attitude was what they wanted. It had been an all day interview. 

For the three years, I worked there, my boss teased me about "not being very tall." I never told him about the green shutters.

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