Psychic’s Talent in Predicting Future Doesn’t Spare Her From It

Our text today concerns Elizabeth Lee Estep, psychic, clairvoyant and pushcart vendor at Horton Plaza shopping center.

For four years she’s tended to the metaphysical needs of shoppers.

For $15, she’ll look at your palm and talk of your past and present. For $20, you get past, present and future.

The deluxe treatment--past, present, future and an “aura” reading--costs $25. Also for sale: incense, Tarot cards, crystals and perfume oils.

She’s one of 23 cart vendors who rent outdoor space to hawk their wares at the center. The others peddle more prosaic goods: T-shirts, sunglasses, trinkets, etc.

Estep swears it’s her uniqueness that has brought her grief. In 1989, she was asked to absent herself from the plaza during the Christmas season.

Now, her lease is being terminated altogether, her cart confiscated, sayonara by June 30.

“I’m being thrown out because someone in management thinks what I’m doing is socially unacceptable,” Estep protests.

Not so, says Craig Pettitt, the center’s general manager.

“It’s time for a change,” Pettitt says. “I don’t mean to be cold about this, but, up front, we make it clear to the cart people that this is not a permanent thing.”

Estep is not the only cart proprietor who has been sent packing, Pettitt notes.

Maybe so, Estep responds, but there are also carts that have been at the center longer than her cart and are still being allowed to remain.

She is trying to rally her clients and friends. Attorney Kurstin Bush is writing a letter of support.

He’s been a believer since she accurately predicted that he would narrowly miss passing the Bar Exam and then pass the next time.

“I think it’s unfortunate. She’s unique, she’s different, she contributes to the ambience of the place.”

Estep says the, if she’s forced out, she’ll lose her clientele and have trouble making a living (she’s raising two children).

And how did she come about this bleak prediction?

She looked into the future and didn’t like what she saw.

Recipe for Frustration

That’s how the myth crumbles.

Chain letters are now being sent by fax.

The latest to hit fax machines in San Diego purports to supply the recipe for Mrs. Fields’ oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies.

Along with a narrative about a nurse (anonymous, of course) in Washington, who bought the recipe for $2.50 from the company and then had her credit card billed for $250.

As the story goes, Mrs. Fields refused to correct the mistake, so the nurse is out for vengeance by disseminating the recipe far and wide.

E.G. Perry, spokesman at Mrs. Fields’ corporate headquarters in Park City, Utah, says the recipe story is a myth that has been circulating around the nation for several years.

“A month ago it was in Florida, and before that the Pacific Northwest and the Midwest,” she said.

Perry insists that the recipe enclosed is not real: “Only Debbi Fields knows the real recipe.”

Yes, but there’s one thing even Debbi Fields doesn’t know: Who started the chain letter.

The company tried to hunt down the culprit and failed.

Definitely Not a Bed of Roses

Stuff you should know.

* Flower power.

To rid Horton Plaza park (in front of the shopping center) of transients, city workers this week will remove the benches and grass and install 15,000 geraniums.

Geraniums are known for their bright color and their odor. Park workers hope the latter quality will keep the transients at bay:

“People don’t usually like to lie down in something smelling as bad as geraniums.”

* The day of the half-million-dollar new tract home has arrived.

The first batch of homes in the Aviara subdivision in Carlsbad are on the market, with developers reporting good sales and 3,000 looky-loos.

Prices start just under $500,000.