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He's psyched Your Highboy Says "Hi"By Rick Horowitz
Committed as I've always been to a life of public service, dedicated to protecting the spiritual well-being of my community and the world at large, and eager to do whatever it takes to pick up a little spending money on the side, I'm giving serious thought to launching my career on an entirely new trajectory. I want to be a psychic. "That's the craziest thing I ever heard!" you're saying to yourself. I knew you were going to say that. A psychic's work is rewarding work; that's the way I look at it. Emotionally rewarding, and...otherwise. You think all those people would be rushing into the business if they weren't going to cash in in a big way? Of course not. They're psychics, aren't they? They know these things! Which is why it sometimes looks like every Tom, Dave and Sonya with a far-off gaze and a snappy line of patter is reaching out to the Great Beyond, lending an ear to those who have Crossed Over. People need contact. All kinds of contact. And they're willing to pay for it. I want my share, that's all -- and I've already picked out my specialty. I want to be a furniture psychic. I see it as filling a need. After all, there are already plenty of psychics out there who offer conversations with a dear departed spouse or a favorite relative. (The more enterprising among them have even suggested that they can get in touch with some of the people who were killed on September 11, which certainly takes public service to a whole new level, don't you think?) Then there are psychics who don't limit themselves to receiving signals from humans (or former humans), but who can tell their clients what their pets -- living or dead -- are thinking. (The clients' pets, that is, not the psychics' pets, though I'm sure that for a slight additional charge...) But where are the psychics who can keep you in touch with that favorite old couch of yours? With the toy chest you treasured as a child? With the love seat that once meant so much to you? Just because they're no longer part of your household, just because they've gone to that great Goodwill in the Sky, does that mean they're no longer part of your life? Does it mean they're not still trying to communicate with you? To ask the question is to answer it -- that's how I look at it. And the same thing goes for the furniture you still own. Haven't you ever had a snack table that squeaked every time you rolled it over the kitchen floor? Is it simply saying, "Oil me!"? Or is there much more on its mind? Can you afford not to know? I have a bed that regularly calls to me in the middle of the afternoon. For years, I ignored it. Now that I've trained myself to listen, our relationship is stronger than it's ever been. And I'm not the only one who'd benefit from my new powers. Our next-door neighbors recently put a used-but-still-serviceable desk out at the curb. "Free to good home" -- that's what they said on the note they attached to it. Somebody's bound to grab it any time now, but will our neighbors rest easy until they hear from the desk itself that it's receiving all the love and polish it deserves? I doubt it. But if I were already doing my furniture-psychic thing on a professional basis, I could help them cope with their uncertainty. They could help me cope with my MasterCard bill. Bookcases have so many stories to tell -- who will hear them if I don't? Sectionals with their multiple personalities -- who else is willing to sort them all out? Credenzas and Barcaloungers, dressers and davenports -- your furniture's hidden messages needn't stay hidden any longer. I'm here, I'm hungry, and I'm happy to help. For a reasonable fee, of course. I just hope the ottomans don't speak Turkish. Posted 4/4/02. Your
computer wants you to come back to "Rick's" very soon! Are you going
to ignore your computer?
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Rick Horowitz
