I was fucked by a fake fakir recently.
I was browsing in Gramophone, Ngee Ann City yesterday morning when an Indian guy turned to me and introduced himself as “Lal, an astrology writer from London.”
He claimed that he writes about astrology for newspapers. He said I am a lucky man who will live to age 86 or something like that but my “lover” is not good for me and that she talks behind my back and has harmful intentions towards me. He spoke so rapidly I couldn’t get a word in edgewise but once he got me “engaged” with him I was – to be honest- rather fascinated and I supposed that’s when he got me by the scrotum! (Some people would say that he has cast a spell on them.)
Anyway, he opened his wallet and took out a tiny little piece of paper the size of a postage stamp, quickly scribbled something on it, crushed it into a tiny ball and asked me to hold it. Next he asked me what my favorite flower was and I said “Rose”, though I don’t really have a favorite flower, he then asked me to name my favorite color and I answered “blue”, finally he asked me to say a number and just for the heck of it, I said “2”.
He then instructed me to take that ball of paper in my hand and touch it to my forehead and to the back of my head and blow on it and then to open it and holy shit when I opened it the words “Rose”, “blue” and “2” were written on it.
It frigging freaked me out man! At that time he must be patting himself on the back for he must have thought he has just recruited the latest contributor to his retirement fund, so he opened his wallet again and said “I will now tell you two bad habits you have but now please put money inside here.”
I really didn’t want to go any further – I mean I might have been born at night, but certainly not last night – but being such a soft hearted son of a bitch I thought for whatever he just did – he certainly pulled a neat stunt – he deserved a little something (I was quite happy to part with a couple of bucks for a bit of amusement) so I took out my own wallet intending to give him two bucks but the smallest note I had was a ten so reluctantly I placed the ten in his wallet but he responded by saying “Put 50, put 50” – that’s when I wanted to tell him to take a hike but again he took out another small little piece of paper the size of a postage stamp, again he quickly scribbled something on it, crushed it into a tiny ball and asked me to hold it. Then he asked me to name an animal and I said “horse” just to humor him as I was about to walk off, but he instructed me to take that ball of paper in my hand and touch it to my forehead and to the back of my head and to blow on it then open it like before and – yes, you’ve guessed right – when I opened it the word “horse” was written on it!
Before I could walk away he said “Your number one bad habit is you have a big mouth and you can’t keep secrets. Now I will tell you your number two bad habit and how in June, you’ll have a very special lucky day…” At that time I had enough. I mean how many rounds of this rigmarole was this scumbag going to subject me to and how many ten-dollar notes do I have to give away? I stormed out while muttering to one of the Gramophone staff that the store is being used by unsavory characters to rip innocent people off.
But Mr Lal, or whatever it is your name is, you are not entirely wrong.
You see, I do have a big mouth sometimes and I can’t really keep secrets. So, everyone, here’s a secret for the whole world:
“THERE’S A CON ARTIST OPERATING IN NGEE ANN CITY, HE IS AN INDIAN WHO COULD BE HANGING OUT AT GRAMOPHONE, OR ANY STORE FOR THAT MATTER, SO KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR HIM. IF YOU SPOT HIM, HAVE SOMEONE DISTRACT HIM WHILE YOU CALL THE COPS OR THE BUILDING’S SECURITY AND HAVE HIM ARRESTED!”