It’s a MADHOUSE!!! (Norbits voice)
I grew up spending more evenings of my childhood in a bingo hall than I care to admit. I can say I learned to count numbers and money in a bingo hall. Proud of my American education! As an adult I still choose to go play on occasion. Yes, my own daughter speng many nights with me and my mother playing in the bingo hall. Heck, I even went into labor in the bingo hall. The smurfs baby book has the bingo sheet I used to time the contractions. On that night I will say I stayed the whole set of games then went to the hospital. You know me. Proud mommy moment. While I digress, this helps me make my point.
(Our Bingo players.)
Everyone is captivated by the people of Walmart. Um…have they seen the people of Bingo? Before the people of Walmart was even a thing, the people of Bingo have been in the underground practicing their craft for years. I have been on this planet nearly four decades and the things I would attempt to describe…just…yea. For example, have you seen a woman able to walk across a warehouse like space and sit down on THREE folding chairs yet still have a 30 pound side of beef hanging off either side? Let that sink in for a moment. There are old white men wearing wave caps who yell across the bingo hall at a grandmother woman “Yeap! You can tell she put ben gay in her panties!” Still there is another woman two rows over who obviously painted all her clothes on, painfully wearing a wig, and pulls her teeth out to slam on the table (in disgust) when some noob yells bingo.
Wait. I am not done.
(Theres no chicken in bingo! -said in a Tom Hanks yelly voice.)
The terribly out of place guy who is on a date with his side woman whom you know he is only there because she wants to be seen in public with him and he knows nobody will catch him while at bingo. Its a safe place for players. Literally! There are the widows trying to meet some other dusty senior to chat up. Even the loons with all their good luck charms and cursing at every other person who appears to mess up their good luck flow.
Sorry to disappoint but no butt cracks and no overweight muffin tops nor are there any bathing suit misfits but oh gosh are there rejects, older people who are lucky enough to slip away from their families to run around in public as well as the random mother daughter giggling at random nothingness.
(I tell the Smurf. “Go get me a cup of coffee with about –》[ ] that much creamer in it. This is what shr brings me. Sans coffee. I guess she forgot who her mother was.)
We are the Bingo players. We have readied the world for people of Walmart for years while remaining off the radar.
Each bingo hall has its specialties as well. The one I go to has had some random guy run in the front door. Yell “The emporer has arrived!!” Then ran out the door only to be chased down unsucessfully by the gay guy selling the bingo sheets. This one also gets frequented by the chinese food delivery people who must be ninjas or something. The Smurf told me (ah yes, the random chick with teal blue hair plays bingo as well) that before she dies, she will see one of the ninjas come in the front door. I swear they just appear about 20 feet inside the bulding abd walk around quietly yelling “Chinee food? Delivery? Chinee food?” The Smurf and I are laughing until we cry. Later they come back only we see them walking out. Where do they come from? So we watch and wait. Four times this ninja has eluded us. Grrr.
(The Smurf trying not to laugh at the food ninja.)
(Here I am. I write. Its what I do.)
Yes America. We are the Bingo players and we are proud. We bring our kids into amoke filled warehouses and come home smelling like ashtrays and covered in many colors. We carry our trinkets and bingo bags and forever scream how broke we are but always find the money to play. We are fashionable abd trbdy and oh so refined.
What do YOU think?