Ouija Board Blues

Although none of our fingers were placed upon it at the time, the planchette moved magically and effortlessly atop the worn and weathered Ouija board surface, moving solely of its own volition. That had never happened before. There are three basic rules when you work with the Ouija board. Only two of the three really apply when it came down to survival. One: never use the Ouija board alone. Three: Always say Goodbye. How was I to know that some idiot at tonight’s table would take out their cell phone to begin snapping pictures and then posting them on Instagram? This pissed off the spirit royally and who then departed before I had a chance to say Goodbye. Now I’m f**ked!

It’s just been one of those years. The value of my IRA was contracting (LOL – what IRA?). Inflation was eating away at the savings intended for my one-day retirement (LOL – what savings?). Revenue from the Ouija board game had now fallen to about the equivalent of what a typical traveling typewriter salesman raked in when banging it door to door in Silicon Valley. This was not a photogenic moment in time for me. Lights, camera, action, dolly back, cut, fade to black…

My mother claimed to be a clairvoyant. Yeah, my mom claimed a lot of things. I loved her nonetheless, and nonetheless, she loved me. Personally, I never believed in much of anything except believing in your dreams. Guess you’d say I’m rather basic. Go on, have a go at me if you like. You’re nothing compared to that pissed-off spirit with a hard-on for my damnation because I neglected to adhere to the simple wisdom bestowed within the elementary third rule regarding bye-byes. I’m f**ked!

I loved my mom, but I only have one photograph of her. In this picture, she’s posed alongside another woman I only knew as Aunt Hazel. Aunt Hazel was married to Uncle Gil. The aunt and uncle lived with us in a small house for nearly a year down in Palmetto, Florida, along with their adopted thirty-something-year-old daughter Nancy, and her husband Jerry, who had a gig delivering Pepsi Cola to local retailers. Jerry had a deep southern drawl, and “Them’s the damnedest people!” was his catchphrase. When I was five years old, Uncle Gil introduced me to Brazil Nuts. He told me they were called “ni****toes”. When I announced to my mom and dad I’d been gobbling ni****toes I was summarily smacked silly. I’m proud to be included among a branch of this fine lineage that does not tolerate racial intolerance. Damn proud! 

I don’t have to be psychic to know what you want to know next. You want to know how I got into the Ouija board racket. Right? That’s the question that’s living rent-free in your brain right now, isn’t it? Okay, take a load off your feet, have a seat and I’ll spill the tea...

I’d called it quits working at McDonald’s. They weren’t such a bad outfit to be with – it was just the tallow! Do you even know what tallow is? It can usually be a combination of rendered mutton or beef fat, pig lard, and/or plants. Pretty much anyone’s guess, I guess. Yum-yum. McDonald’s likes to use it, and they use it big time when they cook. I hate the way tallow smells when it cooks. At the end of every shift, I’d walk out of that Golden Arches door smelling like the French fry that got stuck beneath the metal fryer basket and had been repeatedly deep-fried throughout a double shift. That job was killing me – literally.

So, a few weeks ago I was talking to Effie. Effie’s not my girlfriend, though I wouldn’t mind if she was. But we’re both girls. I haven’t worked that one out in my own head yet as to if that’s somewhere I really want to go. I keep on wishing that Effie would make the first move and we’d just take it from there, I imagine. It could get interesting. Why is it always so damn complicated! Sometimes life feels like there’s always someone poking a broomstick under my feet while I’m just trying to dance. Sheesh - what the frack!

Effie says, “You really gonna put your gig at Micky-D’s in the rearview mirror this time? That’ll be the day! What are you gonna do for money?”

“I bought the Ouija board.”

“The Ouija board?”

“Yeah, the Ouija board.”

“How you gonna make the guap with that Ouija board?”

“You’ll see…”

Today’s session was far from the first where I was getting paid. I felt pretty stoked and really psyched. It began well. I’d commenced by inviting the spirit into our circle. For several tense minutes, nothing except what sounded like a soft fart from one of the five people seated along with me at the table had materialized. Then, the tear-shaped planchette began traversing alone atop the Ouija board. This was getting spooky and stinky. Then I think I heard a second fart and could next pretty much pinpoint the culprit who’d been cutting the cheese while we were in the middle of contacting the other side. Some say one should have respect for the dead. I say whatever. 

My eyes were glued to the window of the planchette as it darted from one area of the board to the next. Slowly, a message began to emerge. The first letter it landed on was “Y”. This was followed by an “O-U D-I-E T”. That was when I looked up and saw some bearded, man-bun sporting loser with a pair of piscine eyes peering from behind coke-bottle thick eyeglasses snapping shots of the Ouija board with his cell. He’d not only been tapping away like the paparazzi on speed spotting Britney Spears on a bad hair day but had even managed to post one or two of them on Instagram already. The testy spirit departed our circle throwing a conniption before completing its message.

It’s probably obvious to everyone except the oblivious that the first trio of letters spelled out the word YOU. The next three were more chilling: DIE. Through the window of the planchette, the consonant T had become clearly visible. Then poof! Spirit takes umbrage; not with the pix but with the asshat’s Instagram posts. Well, excuuusssse me! Was the T going to be the beginning of the words “TONIGHT”, “TOMORROW”, “TWO WEEKS”, “TWELVE MONTHS”, or “THIRTY YEARS”? Give me a freaking break here – the suspense is killing me. Why don’t you just kill me now and get it over with, oh spiteful spirit.

After all, it was you who stomped out of the room with your panties in a wad about something I had absolutely no mofo control over; you were the one with the big ol’ bug up your butt – not me. I know - rules are rules. I didn’t say Goodbye. Well, you didn’t say Goodbye either. But I can’t go crawling back to that stinking job at McDonald’s. On the other hand, I don’t know if I should ever mess with the Ouija board again. I’m f**ked!