I Was a 1990s Telephone Psychic

It was 1997 and I had recently become single again. My youngest child was an infant and I was on leave from work. I had some savings and I owned my tiny trailer, which I had purchased for $800. Still, I needed extra income, and I wanted to do something I could do from home.

In my current situation, I could not afford childcare, and I was not about to ask my parents to watch the children for free. I paid them for any time they watched the kids, but they were still working themselves. They needed time of their own.

Opportunity knocks

The answer came one day as I skimmed through the classified advertisements in the local newspaper. The listing stood out to me:

Telephone Psychics needed. Do you read Tarot Cards? Do you want to help people? Call 602–000–0000.

I’m sure there was more to it than that, but this was the important part. It was a Phoenix area phone number, so I worked up the courage and made the call. The woman on the phone was friendly and told me a little bit about the job.

I would need to have my own fax line to send in my time sheets. I would need to have absolute quiet during my time on the phone. I would need to dedicate at least a few hours to the phone when I was working. I could do that, I told her. I could work late nights when the children were asleep, at least for now.

The “cheat sheet”

She set up a full interview by telephone in which I would do a card reading for her. In this way, they would know how I would do on the phones. When I hung up the phone after that first conversation, I pulled out my favorite tarot deck and started making notes.

You see, I’ve always been more of a “big picture” person, but I’m not good at memorizing details. I was able to read the cards as long as I had some kind of prompt. Back then, it was usually the little book that came along with the deck.

Good readers will tell you that memorization isn’t the way to go, that it’s better to just let intuition lead you in the reading. This is what I have always done, but I wasn’t confident enough in myself to let go of the idea that I had to memorize the meaning of each card. So, I commenced creating a small detailed “cheat sheet” that would help me in a reading with someone who was not actually sitting with me. I call it a “cheat sheet,” but all the only purpose it served was to act as a memory prompt for me.

It worked perfectly. So perfectly that I would later use a much smaller, simpler version when I did quick one-card readings as a waitress in a Phoenix tapas bar a few years later.

Hired!

I completed the test reading successfully and was hired immediately. All I had to do was invest in the fax line. I had already ordered it from the telephone company, and it was installed within a day or so after the interview.

My on-phone time was in what I call the “wee small hours” of the morning for my clients. I started at midnight my time and worked from two to four hours per night. Most of my clientele were on the East Coast of the United States, which meant it was two or three a.m. their time when they called.

When the phone rang, I would answer and identify myself by first name only. The client would tell me their name and I’d ask what they needed help with. As they spoke, I would lay out the cards. I usually used that Celtic Cross layout because I was most familiar with it. As I set each card down, I’d glance at my “cheat sheet” and then let intuition take over.

All about the money

I’m sure that by now most people who know about the 1990s telephone psychic industry are aware that the business goal of the psychic was to keep the caller on the phone past the first five minutes, which were free. Once that five minutes passed, the caller would begin paying.

I’ll be honest. I have no idea how much they were paying if they made it past the first five minutes. I only know that I was paid a few cents per call whether I got them past the free minutes or not. I earned more if they did make it, though. I’m sure the company was raking in millions while the readers probably made hundreds. Or, more likely, tens.

Not about the money

I never worried much about whether or not the client made it to the paid time. At least, not in the way the company would have liked me to. For me, it was more of a personal disappointment to have the line click off when I was in the middle of a sentence.

Intellectually, I knew the client just wanted what they could get for free most of the time.

It was obvious to me when a reading wasn’t going well, and that rarely happened. When it did, usually the client would tell me so. I would try another avenue — perhaps I’m seeing this wrong…what about this?

Sometimes it worked. Not all interpretations are equal. When it didn’t work, they would thank me for listening and for being nice, then they would kindly say goodbye.

The questions

Over the short time I worked as a telephone psychic, the majority of those for whom I read wanted the usual answers. Does he love me? Will I get that job? Should I make this or that decision?

I don’t believe in absolutes. They got answers from me, but the answers still held questions. What feels more correct for you? What would be best for you or your family? Have you considered the pros and cons? These were led by the reading, by what they shared with me, and by my own intuitive awareness of how to lead them to making their own decisions.

While most of the clients wanted answers to these time-worn questions, there were some who wanted…who needed…more. They didn’t need a psychic. What they needed was a therapist. A real, trained therapist.

Last call

The last call I ever took was from a man who called me at 1:00 a.m. my time. He was calling from New York. I was on the phone with him for almost two hours. Think about that. While I spoke to him from 1:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m., he was speaking to me from 3:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. By then, we were both tired. I remember him telling me he had a job to go to in the morning.

I went through an entire reading with the man, during which he talked about his difficulty with relationships. His loneliness. His fear of losing his job because he had not been there long. His inability to maintain his income. His struggle with alcohol. His depression. His suicidal thoughts. His loss of hope.

I listened. I responded. I asked if he had a therapist. He did not.

I recommended he get one. What I did not say was, “Listen, dude, I can’t help you, you need a shrink,” although to be honest, that’s what I was thinking at the time.

I said, “You know, I think it would help you if you talked to a professional who might be able to help you.”

“You’re a professional,” he countered.

“Well,” I said, feeling a little queazy, “I think you should consider speaking to a therapist. Someone who has a lot of training in helping people through similar difficulties.”

He was amenable to the idea. He asked me how to find one. All I could say was that he should check with his health insurance or the Yellow Pages. Those of you in the post-Internet generations or from outside the U.S. may not know about the Yellow Pages. It was a telephone book of businesses located in the area where people lived.

He could look up “Therapists” or “Psychologists” and find one in the area. He would have to ask if they took his insurance. I know now that it would not have been quite as easy as it might be today. Heck, it’s not even that easy today to find a therapist nearby that takes your insurance and who is exactly what you need. Back then, I had no idea what challenges a person might have in finding the perfect therapist.

Nevertheless, I knew that this gentleman needed one. He definitely did not need me, a telephone psychic.

When I ended that call that night, I went to bed with butterflies in my tummy. I was scared for the man I had just spoken with for two hours. I felt guilty. I had no idea if what I told him from the reading would make him or break him. I didn’t know if he would follow up on my unsolicited advise to see a therapist or if he would pick up the phone again and call a psychic.

I just knew it wasn’t going to be me.

Thankfully, I would soon be ready to go back to my day job.

***

This story first appeared in Brigid's Arrow on Medium.