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Chasing The Dream
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Chasing The Dream Some think that my life is much more fascinating than most but I�m here to tell you that it really isn�t. There is nothing special about me, I do what average people do�however, as an artist and writer, I tend to see the world a little differently and with a little flair and poetic bullshit I can make most any scenario seem interesting...seem entertaining. Lets put that theory to the test as I take you out for a night of bingo�or at least bingo as I see it. Let me know how I do. Its usually her girl�s night out. Friday is her time to be with her friends, unhampered by us man folk. The girls play bingo, they leave the boys to their own vices to do our own Friday night thing which for me usually amounts to more quiet seclusion and my creative endeavors. Told ya my life isn�t any more fascinating than anyone else�s. But one Friday it seemed all of her friends bailed and as a last resort, Ruby Red invited me out to bingo. I sensed she really wanted to go and without me she probably wouldn�t go, so I said sure. Since I�ve never been, I figured I�d treat it as a sociological study and play my favorite role as gonzo journalist while I relay the experience to you all eventually. The building was nice�well as nice as it could be at eleven o�clock at night with what seemed to be a surprisingly large number of Native Americans and Samoans filing in from the parking lot. It had kind of a northwestern outdoorsy theme with a huge stone fireplace and stuffed big horn sheep and mountain lions climbing rock dioramas. As a newcomer they had to snap my ID picture which, like all my license pictures, turned out looking like a depraved molester glaring at the camera in spite of all my efforts to offer a warm yet sexy smile. We let out an honest laugh as soon as we saw my new ID card so at least I had a good sense of humor about it. The store sold what looked to me like garish, brightly colored tubes of<b> flavored lube </font></b>but I later came to figure out they were bingo markers. They had sort of a hospital style cafeteria where they sold chips and candy�nothing of nutritional value. I can tell the place was going to be hot and stuffy so in what was a rarity for me we bought lukewarm sodas with large Styrofoam cups of ice to go with it. We got in line behind what turned out to be a mother and . The had on tight jeans and sprayed blonde hair like matted straw and the husky voice of an old smoker. Her mom was very much the same�tight jeans, matted straw hair, but somehow had a smoker�s voice even more husky. They struck up a conversation with Ruby Red as most people tend to. They talked about the game�how often they go and where you can get cheaper rates during the week. It was mentioned that it was my first time and they said I�d probably win big with my beginner�s luck�you wait and see. I said nothing but just smiled and nodded politely. In fact, I let Ruby Red do all the talking as we purchased our games at the ticket window. I had no idea what was needed for a night of bingo entertainment as all the games had names like Pick Two, Texas Blackout, and Five Around The Corner. It could have been trigonometry to me, as it would have all registered the same. Somehow all these fancy names equated to twelve dollars (a bit more for her as she sprung for a few extras) and several stacks of cheap colored newsprint with random numbers printed in neat little squares. We all filed into different game rooms and in order to get to the non-smoking area we had to shuffle through the smoking room�which was somewhat appalling as I haven�t seen anyone smoke indoors since the late 70�s or so. The smoke hung like a cloud that irritated my eyes almost instantly. I watched one old gal in particular as we made our way to the other room. She had long press-on nails in gaudy pink that matched her lipstick�the same lipstick that stained her Virginia Slim cigarette. He cheeks sunk in hard as she sucked deeply from her cigarette�turning almost the whole thing to ash in one fell swoop. She plugged away with her colored marker on newsprint sheets as numbers were called. B16. N42. G21.The non-smoking room was divided by a clear Plexiglas wall and a Star Trek type door that went�swoosh when you walked through�and for my comfort, didn�t go swoosh again soon enough as we entered the supposedly smoke free zone. We found our seats and the waiting time before the games gave me ample opportunity to watch the crowd and take mental notes to write down later. I�m sorry to say�particularly for anyone who may enjoy the game, but the bingo crowd late on a Friday night is not a very good looking one. These are people who walk into a room belly first as they lumbered through the Star Trek doors�swoosh�swoosh. They saw the world through tired rheumy eyes with dark circles under them and in their clothes, their skin, their sullen expressions every dull shade of grey, brown, yellow ochre and beige were represented. They made small talk, cracked mediocre jokes, and their heavy lidded eyes gave the slightest hint of their former bright sparkle as they laughed, revealing crooked yellow teeth as their lips peeled back. They had husky, gravelly laughs that sounded like an ailing motor and almost always ended in coughing fits. The mother and that was in line ahead of us found seats in our room�the non-smoking room, which was surprising considering one had a cigarette in hand, the other had one tucked behind her ear. They recognized us, smiled, and wished us good luck. In our mid and late thirties we were the youngest and frankly the best looking couple there�our skin and eyes were brighter, our hair wasn�t in the sprayed helmet that seemed popular with this crowd and neither of us wore a fanny pack. The game itself, at least for me anyway, was a little too quick, too frantic for my liking. I had a hard time following as they would call a number�I27. Then it was my task to find its match across seemingly countless rows and columns�dabbing at each with my purple marker in hopes I didn�t miss any but inevitably the next number would be called while I was only halfway through the task. Its not quite like the bingo we played in the second grade�its not a matter of simply being the first to spell out BINGO or anything like that. Each game involved trying to match a given pattern�say X�s or checkerboards or arrows or four in a row in any direction including diagonally. Every time I almost got the hang of it, they would change the rules and the pattern with each new game and I would franticly try to make sense of everything. I wish I could tell you that your favorite story teller and narrator had a better go at it�I wish I could tell you that the aforementioned beginner�s luck had made it so that I raked it in big, but in truth I could not see patterns, I could not wrap my mind around all the numbers and letters and was perpetually about a half call behind with seemingly no ability to catch up and evaluate my pages for a win. They�d change out the number caller every couple of games and with potentially thousands of dollars at stake you�d think they�d hire the most articulate people ever for the task, but not really. Most did just fine but one in particular sounded like he had stuffed the numbered bingo balls in his mouth as he was calling them off. He also went too fast, I think as that game I was about three numbers behind and I couldn�t help but wonder if everyone else was too. Occasionally someone in my room would win. This one old blue hair called out Bingo and the room filled with exasperated huffs. Bingo officials would huddle around her area like airport security and read off serial numbers from her sheet into their headsets to confirm her win. It was all such serious business. Even the blue hair who had just won $1000 had the unwavering expression of someone who has done this a lot in her time and probably in the whole scheme of things had just broken even. Toward the end of the night, sometime just before two AM, I stopped caring about trying to keep up, trying to understand what was happening, trying to win anything and just relaxed and let my mind go blank for awhile as they called off numbers. B41...N16...O30. I took several swigs of my drink and contemplated the Styrofoam cup�plain, white and half full of soda and ice. I decided it needed some remodeling. Instead of using my purple bingo marker to franticly dab at numbers within countless columns and rows, I used it to carefully draw a frowny face on my cup. Its not like a regular marker or pen, you can�t write or draw but rather you had to carefully dab the image on. Also above the frowny face I dabbed the words You Suck and thought about how the room smelled of cigarettes, Old Spice and Geritol. N44...B61...I52. I was certain that all the cameras in the room were focused on me at this point�after all, bingo was serious business and I was fucking around during the final biggest, most important, and highest stakes game of the night. G22...G36. My mind was never more at ease. B11...I30. When Ruby Red saw what I was doing her signature laugh filled the room even though she covered her mouth and tried to stifle it. People were trying to concentrate on the game and the possible big win. They were chasing the dream and wasn�t about to change that. I had my random, stupid act of rebellion and was defacing a Styrofoam cup with a bingo marker. I was happy. At the end of the night, like the credits at the conclusion of a particularly dreary movie, we all rolled silently out into the parking lot and into our cars. Everyone�even the winners looked the same shades of grey, brown, yellow ochre and beige as they did when they walked in. We drove home laughing at my new bingo ID card picture.  |
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5/7/2008 1:36 am |
LMAO!! That is so you! Later! {=} ~~"I can scream as loud as your last one, but I can't claim innocence."~~
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Gawd, you sexy, perverse thing! I want you so BAD, RIGHT NOW, bad bad bingo boy toy!   Nah; just do me across a flat lego desk; I'm buying the pieces!
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that is kinda a sad commentary on life, but so true. I can see you getting bored with it very fast. and always the creative juices flowing  be well tender hugs Baby ...m.
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I have an Aunt-through-marriage that would have fit into that scene perfectly. Except from my neck of the woods, you'd have to add high pitched cackles that pass for laughter. Oh and this line: At the end of the night, like the credits at the conclusion of a particularly dreary movie, we all rolled silently out into the parking lot and into our cars. was exquisite. Yeah, I'm still [blog 1hotwahine]
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"She had long press-on nails in gaudy pink that matched her lipstick…the same lipstick that stained her Virginia Slim cigarette. He cheeks sunk in hard as she sucked deeply from her cigarette…turning almost the whole thing to ash in one fell swoop ..." Ah, you saw the dragon lady. They're endangered creatures these days, but yes, I remember her well! [image] Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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I'm surprised that you didn't put up your Bingo ID picture for the post image or the souvineer cup. Glad to hear you made the most of it by maintaining your individuality. Most people are other people... FUCKING CHARACTER LIMIT!!! ~Oscar Wilde
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I'll bet you use all SORTS of things for unintended purposes! Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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I'm freaky like that, for freaky deaky dudes, dude! 
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"yeah...sometimes it even sends me to the emergency room." they're more than just more than just a choking hazard! Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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Atomic, A friend of mine who Bingoes (is that the right verb?) said that she thought they ought to change the name of the game to, "Aw, shit!" Because after all, only one person yells "Bingo!" and there is a much louder chorus of "Aw, shit!" that follows it... Regards, Alex
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We're all dying to see the ID card, you know. Do it. You know you want to.
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5/13/2008 10:00 pm |
How do you get a room full of old ladies to say oh shit..just have the announcer call out bingo.. I always have to wear my lucky bingo panties when I go out..
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