The Time I Played a Tarot Reader to Get a Story

You’d think the weirdest thing I’ve ever done for a story would involve something glamorous—or at least semi-respectable—like sneaking into a private event or interviewing some reclusive local legend. Nope. It involves a deck of tarot cards I didn’t know how to read, a pink chiffon scarf I borrowed from my mom, and a half-baked British accent that somehow became Australian halfway through. Let me tell you about the time I set up shop as a “fortune-teller” on the boardwalk to interview strangers about love and relationships. Spoiler: It did not go as planned.

“Come For the Fortune, Stay for the Flirting”

This whole misadventure began when I pitched an article about how people’s beliefs in the mystical can shape their dating habits. What makes someone swipe right on a Leo while ghosting a Gemini? Why does every third Bumble profile mention “manifesting good vibes”? Being the ambitious (and slightly naïve) journalist that I am, I wanted first-hand data—conversations with actual daters who might buy into this stuff. But Myrtle Beach isn’t exactly teeming with singles who are eager to explain their star-crossed love lives. So, in a stroke of questionable genius, I decided to become the story—or more accurately, become the “mystical” source they’d be drawn to. It would remain the perfect cover until, well, it wasn’t.

Step One: Learn Some Tarot Basics...Fast

I thought I could fake my way through a tarot reading. After all, how hard could it be? Turns out, harder than I thought when your cheat sheet blows away in the ocean breeze. I spent the night before my undercover operation “studying” by watching video tutorials while binge-eating leftover key lime pie. To this day, I retain zero tarot knowledge except that The Lovers card is a thing (but pulling it doesn’t always mean romance—who knew?).

To seal the look, I tied that pink scarf around my head like every psychic you’ve ever seen on TV—thank you, ‘90s sitcom misrepresentation—and brought an old quilt as my tablecloth. I even printed a sign that read, “FREE TAROT READINGS: Love Advice Included.”

Let’s just say, Step Two should’ve involved second-guessing this entire plan.

Channeling My Inner Ms. Cleo (Badly)

The moment I sat down and laid out my props—cards, sign, and a notebook hidden under the table for jotting down quotes—I knew I was in over my head. But tourists are a curious bunch, and within minutes, I had my first “client”: a bachelorette party attendee named Heather. She plopped herself down with her vodka slushie and declared, “Let’s see what the universe says about my ex-boyfriend Chad.”

Okay, sure. I shuffled the cards awkwardly and drew three because apparently that’s something you do. The problem? None of them looked remotely love-related, which is how I ended up pointing to a picture of a castle (pretty sure it was the Ten of Pentacles) and saying, “This card...represents your inner fortress. You need to guard your heart, but also, keep an eye out for doors—symbolic ones. Love doors.”

Heather squinted at me, as if trying to decide if I was wise or just weird. Somehow, I pulled it off because she nodded solemnly and said, “That makes sense. Chad was emotionally closed off.” Meanwhile, I was scribbling furiously in my notebook under the table so I wouldn’t forget her golden one-liner: “Love doors.” Truly iconic.

I Accidentally Became a Therapist

What started as a “fun” way to gather quotes snowballed into something else entirely. As the afternoon wore on, word of my “talents” spread, and people kept sitting down. A middle-aged dad asked me if he and his wife were in a “lunar compatibility slump” because they hadn’t gone on a date in months. A group of teenagers wanted predictions about their prom dates’ poorly disguised crushes. A guy with way-too-intense energy grilled me about whether he should text his ex (I told him no, because boundaries are important, even when you’re lying about being psychic).

Here’s the thing I didn’t expect: people weren’t coming for the tarot; they were coming because they wanted to talk about love—about the parts of themselves they’re too afraid to say out loud to the people they actually date. And honestly? It hit me like an overripe mango that fell off the grocery shelf: pretending to be psychic gave people permission to open up. They didn’t need “The Lovers” card; they needed someone who’d listen and ask ridiculous questions like, “Have you considered cleansing your romantic energy field by unsubscribing from Chad’s Instagram updates?”

Too Real, Too Fast

The jig was truly up when a woman in her late twenties sat down and told me she’d fallen for her roommate. She asked, poker-faced, if the cards would tell her whether she should confess her feelings or move out. You know those moments in rom-coms where everyone stops laughing and the violin music kicks in? Yeah, that was us. For once, I stopped pretending and said, “Listen, I don’t think tarot can tell you what to do, but...you’ve got to trust your gut. If you’re staying up all night wondering, it’s probably better to risk the awkward conversation than lose sleep forever.”

She teared up (didn’t see that coming), thanked me, and handed me a $5 bill like I was her therapist—or a really cheap cab ride. That’s when I packed up my cards, my scarf, and my questionable accent, and decided it was time to go home. (For the record, I Venmo’ed the $5 to charity out of guilt.)

Lessons From a Faux Fortune Teller

So what did I actually learn from that deranged summer afternoon? A lot of things, actually:

  • Romance is complex, but people crave simplicity. Everyone frame their frustrations with love in terms of “should I or shouldn’t I?” Tarot didn’t give me the answers, but it did give them a starting point for reflection. Maybe the same applies to us all.

  • People open up when you give them space. You don’t need a boardwalk quilt or mystical vibes to listen. Sometimes being present (maybe over tacos, not tarot) is the most helpful thing you can do for someone.

  • Never underestimate the power of humor. Let’s be honest: love in all its messy, complicated glory can be hilarious. Lean into the absurdity of it when things feel overwhelming. And maybe wear a scarf—who’s to say it isn’t lucky?

The Grand Strand Epilogue

At the end of the day, what started as a ridiculous ploy for quotes turned into something much bigger: a reminder that love makes us vulnerable, curious, and willing to pour our deepest thoughts onto strangers in pink scarves. Don’t get me wrong—I’m retiring my tarot act permanently. But if you ever feel like your dating life is trapped in a “Chad vortex,” feel free to come grab a coffee and a chat. I can’t predict the future, but I’m still a pretty good listener.