by Daniel Zilewicz
A bead of sweat was forming at the corner of his duck taped glasses; a twitch crept its way to his lips. The tension was almost tangible, like you could take out a big chunk with your spork and chew on it. An unsteady voice was heard from across the hall, “Bingo.”
“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it…”
Ahhhh…the ever-reliable post-Bingo sound of fifty or so outraged seniors who were, “Just one away.” Lifting my gaze across the sticky, collapsible table to the determined faces of my friends, they reassure me that, “This next one is it, the big moneymaker.”
In an “All America City” like Buffalo, N.Y., where bowlers are considered pro athletes, thermal underwear is sexy, and there is an annual Chicken Wing Festival based on a short scene in a B-rate movie that is actually making fun of this fair metropolis, it is hard to imagine that its hearty citizens would be embarrassed about anything, much less spending their Friday nights with a hundred perfect strangers playing Bingo. It can be a good time … really.
The game itself is fine, but for me, it is the overall experience of going out with your friends to a real live Bingo hall. Who’d have thought that this pastime would become a passion for my friends and myself while yet lurking in our teens. I like the sticky tables, the smell of salty popcorn and old lady perfume commingling in the air before it tickles your nose, and the way the gray man with a Buddha smile sings out the number “Eeeeeleven.” I like it when the sweet old lady (whose lap you just want to crawl into as she tells you of her family and the “good old days,” who makes you yearn for you own grandmother and a cup of warm milk before bed, and who gently lulls you into believing that you are five again and safe and don’t care about anything else around you in the whole, wide world because all that you can focus on right now is how this magical woman with wrinkly eyes and a shiny smile is able to divine that you like butter by holding a small yellow flower to your chin) gives you a dollar so that she doesn’t have to play the “Share-The-Wealth jackpot” all by herself.
Bingo is fun because it passes the time. It isn’t wildly complex, there is no real skill involved, and I have yet to win anything, but it can really get into your blood. It works as a unique and exciting distraction for the hours of 7:00pm to 9:00pm when you are waiting for a good idea for your next adventure or for a movie to start. If you’ve never tried it, go try a game. Be one of the select, “Under Forty Group” to hit the jackpot. Have a marker war with your best friend until you both decide that there can be no real victor when covered from head to toe in red and green ink blotches that makes it look like both of you came down with a case of the holiday chickenpox.
To properly enjoy Bingo, you have to think of it as chocolate syrup. Having it by itself can make you sick, but when it’s on someone’s cheek or a vanilla sundae, it can be very satisfying.