The Fool Rage Quits Her Job - Meet the Magician

Come along on the journey of the Fool as she jumps into the unknown and meets her first guide along the way.

Jun 24, 2025

Let’s take a trip..

(queue the dark ominous music)

Tarot found me when I was 13. I came home from school, and there on my bed was a battered box with “Mythic Tarot” printed plainly on top. Inside was a book, crisp binding as if it had never been opened, and a rubber-banded deck of cards that I’d go on to wear thin from years of shuffling.

The book, that plain-looking paperback, was the game-changer. It didn’t list off agreed-upon meanings. To me, that would be like trying to memorize dictionary definitions. Boring. Pass. It instead took me along on the Fool’s adventure and introduced me to the characters on his path. Written based on classic greek mythology, it wove through every Major Arcana, turning the Fool's Journey into a map of the human experience. Cool, right?

Those cards weren’t just a gift; they were an esoteric mirror. A cheat sheet to the subconscious wisdom quiz. I have more decks than I can count these days, but that book and those cards led me here. Here with you. Here now…

…and now, I'm paying it forward. The same magic, but for a new millennium. So what if we're trading togas for ripped jeans? The archetypes? The Major Arcana? Oh, they're eternal, my pigeons.

Alright, alright, alright… enough of my yapping.

Your ticket's waiting. The train’s leaving now.

“All are on the Path, whose end is THE ALL. All progress is a Returning Home. All is Upward and Onward, in spite of all seemingly contradictory appearances. Such is the message of the Illumined.”― The Three Initiates, The Kybalion

A Fool and Her Money Are Soon Parted.

Mel’s hands were still shaking, her heart racing, adrenaline-filled veins. The call center doors hissed shut behind her like a threat, but she didn’t look back. She was free. Unfortunately, the rent wasn’t.

“Fuck!” She kicked a chunk of loose asphalt and looked up at the sun-scorched sky, squinting into the heavens.

“What now?” She asked, uncertain of who or what might listen.

She turned back to the office building and glared at the glass-paneled door.

“Okay, it’s okay. I’ll go back to HR. I’ll grovel. I’ll apologize…” She told herself, the reality of being unemployed now trumped the indignation.

Then she remembered. Jeanine with her fake smile. Jeanine and her so-called coaching, masking a lower-management power trip.

“We never hang up on a customer.” She spoke like a kindergarten teacher, reminding the class to use their ‘indoor voices.’ “We use our active listening skills to hear their frustration. It’s our job to fall on the sword. We apologize. We don’t hang up.”

“So, you want me to actively listen to verbal abuse and threats of violence? I should stay on the line and apologize to a grown man who’s threatening to stab me in the throat because he had to wait in the queue for fifteen minutes?”

“We don’t hang up on customers. Do you remember our de-escalation meeting? We offer a supervisor callback. We don’t hang up.” Jeanine forced an exaggerated frown. “I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a formal warning.”

“Yeah? Well, Jeanine, I’m afraid I’ll have to give you the middle-finger and a formal Fuck You!” Words Mel would typically say in her head poured from her lips.

Filter not found. Abort. Abort.

Her ears rang with the phantom echo of “Your call is very important to us.” She sucked in a breath, reached for the door, and then froze.

Music.

Bass thumped. The bu-bump bu-bump grew louder, and windows rattled from behind. She pulled her hand from the door and glanced across the street.

A convenience store glowed neon under the afternoon glare. It seemed to pulse with the bass, a living thing.

“Since when was that there?” She squinted, took a few cautious steps towards the sidewalk.

Laughter boomed over the sound of a guitar solo she almost recognized. Something from the ‘90s, maybe? A party. A rager, by the sound of it.

Mel crossed the street, her sneakers sticking to softened tar. The closer she got, the louder it grew.

She drifted as if in a trance. Not looking both ways.

Mindless. Floating.

Until her fingers brushed the door handle.

Silence.

The bell jingled. Her senses returning, she was already inside.

The store was dead. Fluorescent lights buzzed. A scrawny kid, a throwback punk, slumped behind the counter. He flipped through a Thrasher magazine, too cool to glance up.

“Oh, it’s you again.” His voice was boredom personified.

“Uh. No.” Mel blinked. “What?”

The kid, a nametag pinned askew on his denim vest, read Murry. He wore gold studs in the shape of wings in each ear, beneath wild curls uncombed and unconcerned.

He smirked, looking up with eyes like black ice. They had to be contacts.

“Fucking hamsters.” He muttered, shook his head, and closed the magazine.

“What? Hamsters? Was there a party? I heard music.” Mel asked, taking baby steps to the counter.

Murray drummed his fingers on the counter. Huffed. “Hamsters, not goldfish, have a short-term memory span of 2-3 seconds.”

That’s when she noticed his knuckles.

Four shitty tattoos, the kind you’d give yourself with a needle and ballpoint ink:

A flaming wand
A sword
A cup
A pentacle

Mel opened her mouth to ask, but Murry cut her off. “Sure, they can eventually learn, memorize basic tasks, run on the wheel, but it’s just their survival instinct.”

“I should go…” She took a step back.

“Oh hey. Got that thing for you.” He reached under the counter and then slid a padded mailer across it.

She froze, something dropped in her belly. Deja vu?

“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.” She was partially frightened, part intrigued.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing it towards her. “You always say that, too.”

She reached for the package, her arm moving without her consent. Something rectangular bulged from inside.

Mel backed again toward the door, grip tightening.

Murry sighed. “No slushie this time?”

“What?”

“Blue,” he said, like it was obvious. “You always get blue.”

Mel grinned as the memory hit: The Circle K, her grandfather letting her pull the blue lever as he held the cup. The ice had stained her tongue a purply blue. They walked the boardwalk as the sun melted the slush inside and condensation dripped down her wrist.

Murry nodded to the machine. “Go ahead. It’s on the house.”

Mel eyed the security camera. “Your boss won’t mind?”

He barked a laugh. “That? Nah. It’s a prop. People act right when they think they’re being watched.” A pause, he leaned forward. “It’s all perception.”

She took the slushie.

Outside, the sun hadn’t moved. Mel clutched the mailer and the cup, the familiar dripping dampening her wrist.

“Blue is everyone’s favorite,” she muttered. “He just guessed.”

She turned to take it back…

The store was gone.

Just an empty lot, weeds cracking through concrete.

The mailer crinkled in her grip. Mel tore it open.

Inside: A full tarot deck, wrapped in a rubber band. The top card stared up at her:

The Magician pointed to the sky, his tools laid out before him: wand, cup, sword, pentacle.

Just like Murry’s knuckles.

Mel flipped the deck over. Scrawled on the back in Sharpie:

“ALL IS MIND”

…or was it “MIND IS ALL”? The letters seemed to shift when she blinked.

A gust of wind nearly tore the cards from her hands. As she fumbled to catch them, one more fell out.

The Fool.

Only, it was her. It was her right where she stood now. A disgruntled, now former-customer service hamster, with a blue slushie in one hand and a deck of cards in the other.

The Magician’s voice echoed from within: “You already have everything you need, dumbass.”

What does it mean if you draw the card of the Fool?

Buckle up, kiddo. You’re embarking on a new adventure. Leaping into the unknown, where nothing is certain. You’re flying without a safety net. It can happen with a moment of clarity, or like Mel, when enough is enough.

When the Fool comes flying out of your deck, it is time to act. Leap. Don’t look. Blind faith. Not so much in anyone or anything, but just in the inner knowing you have done this before and will do it again. Whatever happens, happens.

What does it mean if you draw the card of the Magician?

The magician is telling you that you have everything you need already, even if you can’t see it just yet. He represents the impulse to act. The confidence that you will have whatever you need when you need it.

He is the energy of Hermes, the god of travelers, merchants, and thieves. He’s a trickster, not because he is cruel, but because sometimes we must learn to perceive a new reality. He moves between worlds and guides the seeker to the wisdom already held within.

When the Magician shows up, it’s time to look at your situation from a new perspective. What limits have you placed upon yourself? Are you enslaved by habit? A hamster on a wheel? The Magician is calling for you to assess the resources you already possess. What can you do with them? Ask him, what pathways am I not seeing?

Stay tuned for the continuation of Mel’s journey as she meets the next guide along her path, the High Priestess.

I hope you enjoyed this modernized take on the timeless Journey of the Fool. I have had an absolute blast retelling it through this unique lens.

Homework

If you’d like to go deeper with these two cards, the Fool and the Magician, I suggest pulling them from your deck and, one at a time, examining them. Get your notebook and, using stream-of-consciousness, write down anything and everything that comes to mind. What do you see? What are you reminded of? What do you feel?

Like the Fool, allow yourself to leap into the unknown, trusting your intuition to guide you and knowing you have everything you need. Those notes? Keep them. They will reveal aspects of yourself that resonate with the cards. When they show up in a reading, refer back, and ask how they apply to my situation right now.

I love hearing from you! Please leave a comment and share anything you may have experienced with these cards in your own readings. Any questions or clarifications? I am more than happy to answer.

Melomaniacal Misanthropy

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