BINGO (part 1)

"Oooh! we should try BINGO!" Summer says.

"Sure! Let's do it." I say, wide-eyed and innocent.

My head is filled with images of rowdy fun with nonstop action. Maybe this could even be lucrative? How hard is it really?

So, with fresh pedicures (Summer's feet not only received a pedicure but a vigorous stroking and a spanking as well, but I digress...) we waded into the seedy underbelly that is the bingo scene accompanied by a few other fantastic friends. We quickly realized that we were in over our heads. This is no game. This is not a sport. This is obviously a lifestyle chosen by those pulled in by the siren call of the bingo caller that, for the life of her, cannot pronounce F*$%ing "V" sounds or "T" sounds (some know how furious this really makes me).

We walk up to the counter. On display are the daubers. Slightly phallic bottles filled with ink and squishy tops. So many different colors, sizes and... smells. Some with illustrations, some with profanity (which, ironically, is strictly prohibited by this establishment.) I am overcome with a feeling of inferiority, because we have only dollar tree daubers lacking any sort of bells or whistles. The woman behind the counter awaits our request. We are slack jawed. A sea of intimidation washes over me and I crumble to her persuasive pitch to buy "the Party Pack" .

"It's got all your 6-on regular games 3-on special games" She explains. "It really is the best deal."

What the F%@# is that supposed to mean?!? Do I look like one of these ladies with a fanny pack and a caddy FULL of daubers?

"mmm hmm...wait what? can you explain all that?"

She rattles on about something, but my undiagnosed ADD has gotten the best of me and I refuse to ask again for fear of alienation and ridicule.

We find a seat at one of the 30 foot tables. The hall has the decorative charm of a community college cafeteria with the eerie hush of a library. One of our group pulls out his good luck charms. He obviously plays for keeps.


For 3 straight hours we giggle like kids every time anything even remotely resembling sexual innuendo is said. This can only be explained by the fact that non of us has developed past the intellectual development of a 12 year old. I'm sorry, but when someone says "6 way on your 6-on" I am going to, out of obligation, respond "Oh I'll have a 6 way on your 6 on". Every. Single. Time. And don't even get me started on "O69". We are the recipients of glares and shushes from patrons with long faces and glazed over eyes. You can't socialize too much. Bingo moves fast. If you don't keep your head on a swivel, you are done. We aren't here to make friends. We are here to win.

"BINGO!" is called all around us but non of us are blessed enough to yell these words out on this night. And you know what really gets me? These people aren't even that excited when they win! Do they have ice water coursing through their veins? With each passing game a part of me dies a little. I know that if I could only win I would finally be a somebody. I would instantly be younger, more beautiful and better at math. While Each Fran, Betty and Barbara wins, Marie goes unrewarded for her diligence and quick learning. The troll has failed everyone at the table.

We walk away feeling accomplished in spirit. Or was it defeated, poorer and exhausted? One would think that we would leave it at that...Will my day come where I can bask in the florescent spotlight? Stay tuned to find out....