Bingo was scary.
I find myself eyeing the bag of bingo blotters I brought home and fighting this urge to run back down to the parlot for another set of games. I played two sessions on friday night.
The first session was $18 for 2 packs of game sheets. So basically, for each of 8 games, I had 4 sheets. Each sheet has something like 6 games on it. 24 chances! woo! And very overwheming for a begining, all these columns of numbers to scan, and if I start chatting, and miss a number, then I have to scan for two at a time, and my eyes start forgetting which sheet they started on. Am I going up or down this column. Crap, start all over, and now look for three numbers at a time.
But, by the end of a three hour session of bingo, I was a pro, scanning quickly, my sheets stacked neatly, shuffle through them, and wait. The bingo caller wasn't going fast enough and I thought. Heh, this is fun.
So, my friend Gail asks if I'm tired, or we want to do the late session. Five games, each for $1000. And the packs only cost $10. How could a new bingo addict resist? I bought 2 packs. We spend 45 minutes prepping our sheets, marking out the strange patterns for the various games to make scanning easier. I've got 3 different blotter colors, and a front row seat. We're ready, and I find I'm a monster, flipping through sheets, tearing through the columns, not thinking about what I need to win. Just looking for I-17, or N-35.
The late session started at 11:30, and by 1:00am, we were done with three of the five games. I bought two more sheets (just fifty cents a piece) for the last two games and my brain almost explodes trying to keep up. But then... I mark one number on one sheet (of my 60 games) and bammo... I just need O-67 for a bingo. Just O-67 to win $1000 dollars. And there it is... my ball, my precious O-67 is sitting in the monitor, next number to be called. And someone yells "BINGO!"
I turn around and see a room full of hundreds of people, with trash bins in front of them, fingers all inked up from blotters, and not one person was smiling. Heck, every single person looked miserable. And I realized, that in the throws of my own bingo madness, I probably had that same desperate miserable look on my face. My back hurt from being hunched over the table, my ass was sticking to the chair, my legs seemed to have forgotten how to function. I was tired, achey, and grouchy. But I'd been so close, my mind kept whispering to me... "almost got it, didn't you?" I would say, its just luck, its just gambling. My mind would whisper back, "just spend $30 tomorrow night and get one of those machines, so we're sure not to miss a match."
Gail and I left, went back to her house and crashed into sleep.
Next day, yesterday, Gail and I toodle around town, shoe shopping, running errands. We go back to her house to grab my stuff before I head home, and I pick up the bag of bingo blotters I'd saved.
"You're going to go play bingo again tonight aren't you," Gail mocks.
"No."
"Uh huh, sure."
"Maybe."
"Just take a nap first."
The crazy thing is, is that I had been thinking about it. I'd been looking at the clock going, "The first session starts at 7:30." I got home, and continued to look at the clocks, measuring out when the next session would start.
Then, started going over my finances and money details for my surgery and moving to Princeton, and I realized. I don't have to bet on luck. I can bet on me. My talent, my skill, and my brain to get me where I need to be.
Yes, it'll be hard for a few months and years, but eventually, everything will be wonderful, and in the meantime, I won't be miserable with my ass stuck to a chair in a tacky bingo parlor, I'll be doing what I love, creating art, and surrounded by people who also adore what they're doing.
No more bingo for me. I'm throwing away those blotters right now, and I'm gonna go for a walk on this stunningly beautiful sunny Sunday.
I find myself eyeing the bag of bingo blotters I brought home and fighting this urge to run back down to the parlot for another set of games. I played two sessions on friday night.
The first session was $18 for 2 packs of game sheets. So basically, for each of 8 games, I had 4 sheets. Each sheet has something like 6 games on it. 24 chances! woo! And very overwheming for a begining, all these columns of numbers to scan, and if I start chatting, and miss a number, then I have to scan for two at a time, and my eyes start forgetting which sheet they started on. Am I going up or down this column. Crap, start all over, and now look for three numbers at a time.
But, by the end of a three hour session of bingo, I was a pro, scanning quickly, my sheets stacked neatly, shuffle through them, and wait. The bingo caller wasn't going fast enough and I thought. Heh, this is fun.
So, my friend Gail asks if I'm tired, or we want to do the late session. Five games, each for $1000. And the packs only cost $10. How could a new bingo addict resist? I bought 2 packs. We spend 45 minutes prepping our sheets, marking out the strange patterns for the various games to make scanning easier. I've got 3 different blotter colors, and a front row seat. We're ready, and I find I'm a monster, flipping through sheets, tearing through the columns, not thinking about what I need to win. Just looking for I-17, or N-35.
The late session started at 11:30, and by 1:00am, we were done with three of the five games. I bought two more sheets (just fifty cents a piece) for the last two games and my brain almost explodes trying to keep up. But then... I mark one number on one sheet (of my 60 games) and bammo... I just need O-67 for a bingo. Just O-67 to win $1000 dollars. And there it is... my ball, my precious O-67 is sitting in the monitor, next number to be called. And someone yells "BINGO!"
I turn around and see a room full of hundreds of people, with trash bins in front of them, fingers all inked up from blotters, and not one person was smiling. Heck, every single person looked miserable. And I realized, that in the throws of my own bingo madness, I probably had that same desperate miserable look on my face. My back hurt from being hunched over the table, my ass was sticking to the chair, my legs seemed to have forgotten how to function. I was tired, achey, and grouchy. But I'd been so close, my mind kept whispering to me... "almost got it, didn't you?" I would say, its just luck, its just gambling. My mind would whisper back, "just spend $30 tomorrow night and get one of those machines, so we're sure not to miss a match."
Gail and I left, went back to her house and crashed into sleep.
Next day, yesterday, Gail and I toodle around town, shoe shopping, running errands. We go back to her house to grab my stuff before I head home, and I pick up the bag of bingo blotters I'd saved.
"You're going to go play bingo again tonight aren't you," Gail mocks.
"No."
"Uh huh, sure."
"Maybe."
"Just take a nap first."
The crazy thing is, is that I had been thinking about it. I'd been looking at the clock going, "The first session starts at 7:30." I got home, and continued to look at the clocks, measuring out when the next session would start.
Then, started going over my finances and money details for my surgery and moving to Princeton, and I realized. I don't have to bet on luck. I can bet on me. My talent, my skill, and my brain to get me where I need to be.
Yes, it'll be hard for a few months and years, but eventually, everything will be wonderful, and in the meantime, I won't be miserable with my ass stuck to a chair in a tacky bingo parlor, I'll be doing what I love, creating art, and surrounded by people who also adore what they're doing.
No more bingo for me. I'm throwing away those blotters right now, and I'm gonna go for a walk on this stunningly beautiful sunny Sunday.
