I was walking through the endlessly intriguing streets of NYC the other evening (my destination shall remain my own business, thank you very much my dear but sometimes far too inquisitive readers), when I ran across a hole-in-the-wall psychic shop somewhere in the west 20’s. Well, what the fuck, you know, it’s a psychic shop and so the very sight of it makes me grin in a detached sort of way, but what actually compelled me stop and take a picture of the dumpy little den of wishes is the ATM machine that has been installed right outside the door. Click on the image to the left to see a larger version.

In my view, this effectively transforms psychic readings into an impulse buy—and what an impulse buy it is. Some of your more upscale readings can apparently cost $400 or more. Not only this, but apparently, the uglier the psychic administering the read, the more expensive it becomes. If you couple this information with the knowledge that over 60% of Americans under the age of 65 are predisposed to believing in psychic phenomenon (ESP, telepathy, etc), you end up with a fairly nutty industry. Fueling this lucrative psychosis is this odd dichotomy: the more highly educated the person, the more likely he/she will believe in all things kinda spooky. It isn’t difficult to see where this is heading. College educated people have, on average, more cash to blow than those that are not. Psychics know their audience. And any showman worth his salt knows to milk his audience for everything they’re worth.

I am a college graduate, however, it is my firm belief that if I am to ever reach a more enlightened state than the one that I am currently at (which would be damn hard; I am one sharp cookie, bitch), it is simply not going to happen via the telephone or the internet. No, I think I prefer to get my enlightenment the old fashioned way: Peyote. I’ll be in the desert if you need me.