11/2/2009 8:17 pm
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While I was unemployed I tried to do all sorts of different experiences, things I probably wouldn't normally have been able to do had I been fully-employed. I decided in September of 2008 to play bingo. Bingo for money. So I headed out to St. Anastasia Catholic Church. Wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, I entered the basement/recreation area of where my sister went to kindergarten. I paid the general fee, grabbed a bunch of papers, paid extra for the lightening round and shelled out a dollar or two.
Most people were already seated with at least ten brightly colored blottlers lined up (in case they run out in the next two hours.) Some had specially designed bags even had holders for their blotters. Many had other bingo accessories such as trolls, a Buddha, little glass cats and bunnies and other kitsch items that I wasn't able to identify.
It goes without saying--I was the youngest bingo-goer in the basement. The next youngest was still at least twenty years older than I was.
There was a thick haze of cigarette smoke that loomed below the low ceiling. I had to ask for help since I didn't know how to play anything other than straight bingo. But alas the social security receiving bingo players were happy to help—even if they confused me more by saying after every third word, "you see."
And I kept holding back the truth that I wasn't contributing to social security they didn't have to be that nice.
Like many around me, I came close to winning. Unlike others around me, I kept my cursing to myself.
While others heckled the volunteer who called numbers, I sat trying to make sure I didn't forget a number to blot.
I liked when he went a bit slower, but when he did so people yelled out, "Come on, aren't we playing bingo here?" But if he sped up after that blast of criticism, he was met with jeers of "What's your hurry?"
My favorite round was of course black out—for probably obvious psychological reasons.
Although I lost miserably, it was a bit of a bright evening during a rather dismal September.
I never went back, although I thought I might. The intrigue and desire led me--a couple of years later--to Hamburger Mary's in West Hollywood for drag queen and D-List celebrity bingo. This was a big deal for me because everyone knows I don't like going west of the 405. Indeed the bingo pull was strong with me. In particular I had't like going into WeHo amid all the bronzed, well-toned men, they always made me feel like a slacker, I mean I didn't even do a one-a-day let alone a two-a-day. Nevertheless with a drag queen and her D-list assistant calling and with games like,
Horizontal Hokey Pokey (traditional line across -------)
Cover all corners (Your basic four corners)
Bend over (Your basic diagonal)
Rim Job! (Well, this one is a box around the free space.)
Frank and Beans (Upside down T)
I got B.O. (a vertical lines on each side of the bingo square)
Ten in one box (Harder to explain)
Top or bottom? (the horizontal version of I got B.O.)
Show your six pack. (Two vertical lines side by side with three squares each)
how could I not travel to mid-north Los Angeles.
Here you of course don't even think of heckling the man in drag, but you do get to--when you hear different letter/number combinations--yell back
(some of my favorites)
B-2 Bless you
B-14 If you want to date Michael Jackson, you must…
0-68 You do me, I'll owe you one
0-69 Our favorite number! Dinner for two- sauce on the side. (Nothing like giving a little flair to a traditionally conservative American game.)
((Side note) The bathroom has "Dancing Queen" on loop being blasted through the speakers, surprisingly enough I was still able to go to the bathroom. As many of you know I have a hard time on planes with pilot voice-overs and in the bathroom of Blueman Group.)
You also get to take out your vengeance on the winner. No more passive aggressive cursing. The one who calls bingo must run around the bar while the losers throw their losing sheets at the winner. I dip a little bit of my sheets in water for better velocity. I also like that there is a punishment for someone who pre-maturely or incorrectly calls bingo. The Drag Queen spanks you with a paddle—more than once. But the real winners get great gift baskets. All the money goes to charity.
The night I went the money was given to some animal charity, but I thought they should use money only to support causes for equal and total rights for a civil union.
Cause 1: end persecution.
((Thought process) And like the poorly produced mock-u-mentary "A Day Without a Mexican," think about a day without a gay, what a bland and prude close-minded world we would live in.)
But my need for Bingo didn't end with Hamburger Mary's. I turned to the California lottery bingo scratch offs--retreating from a colorful life and a step backward into the unimaginative dust bowl life. And somehow these steps led me into this pseudo-addiction to scratch off Bingo cards where I was purchasing three dollar sheets a couple of times a week. There were times I won and many times I lost. Often I looked over the sheets in the morning to catch a few numbers I missed on my first go through. In reality I could have scratched off the bar code and scanned it right where I bought the ticket, but I had become fascinated by this combination of letters and numbers.
A game we play as a child we play as a senior citizen. A game played for money in a church basement to winning elaborate prizes at a bar in the heart of the gay community.
Ultimately you need to only do two things: stay alert and be heard.
If only I could simply do that in real life.
(I am happy to report it has been more than two weeks since my last BINGO scratch and one week since my last general scratch off.)
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