B-I-N-G-O

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I have always enjoyed playing Bingo. I play a game at least a few times a day on my Kindle Fire and on my phone. I don't gamble for real money, however. I haven't done that type of Bingo since my late teens and early 20s when I would accompany my grandmother and her best friend, Virginia, to one of the four Bingo parlors Sumter had to offer in the late 1990s. My grandmother was not a serious player; Virginia, however, was. She would carefully look over her six to eight Bingo cards and daub as quickly as possible so she could beat everyone gathered. My grandmother just liked the atmosphere and playing. And, suffering from the then-misunderstood illness of fibromyalgia, my grandmother's arms couldn't keep up with the daubing. So, I would help her in between my own daubs. And when she'd eventually yell, "Bingo!" you could see Virginia's blood rise all the way to the top of her head as she rolled her eyes. I had not played Bingo in more than 20 years when my best friend since childhood, Stephanie, and I decided to go last week. We went on a Wednesday night (sorry, God), and we took her mother, Sheila, with us. I had looked forward to this all day. You know how, as a child, you look forward to something and you tell everyone all day about it? Child, I did that all day. I told everyone at the doctor's office; I told everyone at dialysis; I told everyone on the bus to and from dialysis. Hell, I even told some random strangers in the Dollar General. I was excited, to say the least. We decided on one of the more popular venues in Sumter. I won't say the name, because I don't want to smite its reputation by writing this column. The facilities were clean and the people were nice. But their style of Bingo just wasn't for us. Immediately, I was told that the 20-cent packs (which cover 20 regular bingo games) are on sale, but that those games aren't played til 9 p.m. It was about 6:30 p.m., and this Bingo enthusiast had just come from dialysis. On dialysis days, this Bingo enthusiast is in bed by about 8 p.m. On dialysis days, this Bingo enthusiast is usually fast asleep by 9 p.m. So, that was a no-go. Instead, we decided to play the various "extreme Bingo games" vaulted our way. In the first, we were encouraged to take two cards for $1 and then daub automatically every number that had a "3" in it. So, 33, 53, 3, 13, 23, etc. I'm about 75 percent through this when the announcer begins calling out the Bingo balls, as is typical. I speed up. She begins calling out numbers like "N 41, 33, 43, 35," naming off the ball selected, plus the obvious "3" numbers in that line. "Bingo!" some woman across the room yells. It's been no more than 2 minutes, and I am sweating like I stole something and was caught red-handed by Jesus himself. I look over at Step, and she seems as utterly confused as I am. Sheila is just sitting there. We are offered more cards. This time, we're told to daub all odd numbers. I tell the woman selling the cards, "We're kinda new at this, and there aren't that many people here; could she go more slowly for a few rounds?" It was like I had grown eight extra heads. Far be it for me to ask for some consideration. She did come over and help me daub my odd numbers like I was in kindergarten and needed help with 2 + 2. But even with her help, I failed miserably. Some woman yelled "Bingo!" on the fourth or fifth ball. The next round, we had to get Bingo in the shape of a horseshoe. In the next, we had to find it in the shape of a "7." Step and I just looked at one another and decided it was time to go with Plan B for the evening: Bowling. There, I was able to get six spares over two games (four in a row in the second game, which I won). But the real winner was Sheila. I don't know where she got the skill, but she beat me and Step soundly. And she didn't have to follow some silly pattern to do it. Robert Joseph Baker is the former editor for The Manning Times. Now on disability for kidney failure and narcolepsy, he mostly sits at home and judges others and makes tacos. He sometimes helps out his former colleagues, when they ask nicely. You can email him, if you like, at editorial@manninglive.com.