I Was a 900-Line Tarot Reader

Some of the Questions Were Heartbreaking

A 1990s-style landline phone sits on a table beside tarot cards and candlelight—an echo of the era when people called strangers, searching for certainty, comfort, and answers about their lives. (Created in Canva)

I learned to read tarot in the 1990s. I was fortunate to have mentors who were Salem witches, strong teachers of both life and magic. I spent a lot of time in a shop called The Broom Closet, and that period was deeply transformational for me.

Monica, the shop owner, taught me tarot. I taught her about crystals. During the chaos of Halloween week, when Salem was packed wall to wall, I worked the door as a bouncer, making sure the shop didn’t exceed fire code. It was equal parts absurd and sacred.

Monica also ran the Witches of Salem 900 line, where readers took shifts answering questions by phone. One day she told me, “You’re ready to work the line.” I didn’t think I was. We compromised. She put me on the Canada line, which automatically cut callers off at fourteen minutes.

I expected it to be fun. A way to make a little side money. I’d heard the saying that almost all tarot questions fall into three categories: love, money, and health. That turned out to be painfully accurate.

I also got prank calls from kids asking if I was psychic. I’d reply, “Are you 21?” Those were honestly the most fun.

Health

One call still stays with me more than thirty years later.

She was a mother. Her son was very sick. She wanted to know if the course of treatment would help him. I remember the weight of her fear as I shuffled. The cards were favorable, and she left the call relieved.

I still wonder how it turned out for them. I hope he’s grown now, healthy, living a full life. He clearly had a loving mother.

Money

Then there were the gamblers.

They wanted lottery numbers. Sports outcomes. An edge.

The cards didn’t show luck. They showed addiction. Mental health struggles. So many Devils. So many fives. Eight of Swords over and over again.

At first, I tried telling them what I was seeing. That the cards weren’t about winning, they were about compulsion. I learned quickly that they weren’t ready to hear that. So I started giving them numbers pulled from the deck instead.

I knew the truth. I just couldn’t speak it. Fourteen minutes doesn’t leave much room for intervention.

Love

I saved love for last because it was the most common. And when I say love, I really mean relationships wrapped in fear and survival.

The question I heard most often was this:

“When my boyfriend or husband gets out of jail, will he come back to me?”

They all sounded terrified. They were asking tarot to tell them whether they were worth choosing. Whether waiting would pay off. Whether their life could start again.

I wanted to scream, Take your power back. You are stronger than this.

But I was young. I had a timer running. So I read the cards as they appeared, strictly in relation to the question. I am a very different reader now, with more than thirty years of experience behind me.

How I Would Handle These Questions Now

Gently. Always gently. These calls came from people in pain.

Now, I would listen first. Tarot is incredibly good at pointing to the source of pain, joy, growth, and limitation when we let it.

I would not answer gambling questions at all. Feeding addiction is not ethical, and it isn’t what tarot is for.

For the mother with the sick son, I would do exactly what I did in the 1990s. Offer compassion. Read through the lens of love and care. Deliver the message clearly and with kindness.

For the women waiting on men in jail, I would ask them to rephrase the question. I would bring the focus back to them. To their inner life. Their strengths. Their choices. I would help them find the places where they still had agency and encourage movement in that direction.

Reading tarot at scale taught me something I couldn’t unlearn. Most people aren’t asking about the future because they’re curious. They’re asking because they feel powerless in the present. Tarot doesn’t exist to predict outcomes or rescue us from uncertainty. Its real power is quieter than that. It brings us back into ourselves. Back into choice. Back into the moment where our life is actually happening. And once you see that clearly, it’s impossible to read cards the same way again.