Feb. 23: Why people play bingo
Only mean people play bingo.
I adopted that opinion after an experience I had about 20 years ago. My opinion is probably too broad - I am surely painting all bingo players with a very large brush. But I will state it anyway because it allows me to tell a story.
Here is the story.
One day, I got a phone call from a lady named Dez (not her real name) who was the nursery supervisor at the Calgary Bingo Palace (not its real name.)
Dez had one of those bitter-sounding voices, like she's smoked 100 cigarettes every day since she was six.
"I want to hire you to do a magic show at the bingo nursery," she said. "How much do you charge?"
I told her. Dez swore at me. We bargained. I wound up cutting my fee by about sixty per cent (I would never do that now.) Great. So now I had a show at the Calgary Bingo Palace.
The day of the show arrives. I meet Dez, who is about sixty. Her face is free of laugh lines because she never smiles. Her eyes are cold and grey. This is a woman who is allergic to joy.
"Set up in the corner," she says.
A little kid comes up to her. "Missus Dez, may I go see my mom?"
"NO!" yells Dez. "YOUR MOM IS PLAYING BINGO! YOU GO PLAY WITH SOME TOYS!"
"But I want my mom-"
"GO PLAY!"
The door opens and in waddles a giant roly-poly lady and some tall skinny dude with a handlebar mustache and a leather baseball cap with the Harley Davidson logo on it. They are hauling two little kids - a boy and a girl - and both of them are screaming.
"BUT I DON'T WANNA STAY HERE!" screams the little girl. "I DON'T LIKE MISSUS DEZ! SHE'S MEAN!"
"SHADDUP!" screams the mom. "Mommy and daddy need a break from you."
Missus Dez comes over and hauls the kids away from their parents, who run to the bingo hall like flies to crap.
"QUIT YER BAWLING!" yells Missus Dez. "LOOK! WE HAVE A NICE MAGIC SHOW FOR YOU!"
The magic show was not fun. Everytime I started doing a new trick, Missus Dez would yell at a kid for running around or getting a drink without permission or breathing.
I came to hate everyone who played bingo at the Calgary Bingo Palace - at least the ones who dropped their offspring into the care of Mrs. Dez. How could someone subject their kids to such misery?
Oh yeah. I forgot. Money.
-
People play bingo for money but they also play it to be social.
My friend, Natalie, will recall the time I got to call bingo in Redvers, Saskatchewan, back in 1998. Redvers is also the home of Natalie's niece, Crystal, who, coincidentally, told me what bingo wings are. I will tell you what they are soon.
I did my bingo calling at the Redvers community hall. Most of the players were old people and they did not like the way I called the game. One old man cornered me later and screamed at me because I called the balls too fast. "YOU WAIT THIRTY SECONDS BETWEEN BALLS!" he yelled. "SOME OF US HAVE 25 CARDS WE HAVE TO MARK!"
I tried to apologize but the man wouldn't listen to me. He suggested that the world would be a happier place had I died in infancy.
He did not win any bingo games that day. This made me happy.
Natalie won one though.
"Congratulations, Shania," I said from the stage.
I used to call her Shania back then because her smile looked like Shania Twain's.
-
Once I complimented Natalie on her teeth.
She accepted the compliment.
"I do have great teeth, don't I?" she said.
Natalie used to floss while we watched TV.
-
Bingo wings: The big flabby skin that hangs from a person's triceps.
-
Once I volunteered at a bingo because it was a fundraiser for my friend, Lester's theatre company. Lester had directed my shitty play for the Winnipeg Fringe Festival in 1997 and I was returning the favour.
My job was to run people's money out to them when they won.
This one lady won $22. I handed it to her. I was all happy and I congratulated her and asked her what she was going to do with the money.
"Go away," she said. "I don't want to talk to you. I'm playing bingo."
I adopted that opinion after an experience I had about 20 years ago. My opinion is probably too broad - I am surely painting all bingo players with a very large brush. But I will state it anyway because it allows me to tell a story.
Here is the story.
One day, I got a phone call from a lady named Dez (not her real name) who was the nursery supervisor at the Calgary Bingo Palace (not its real name.)
Dez had one of those bitter-sounding voices, like she's smoked 100 cigarettes every day since she was six.
"I want to hire you to do a magic show at the bingo nursery," she said. "How much do you charge?"
I told her. Dez swore at me. We bargained. I wound up cutting my fee by about sixty per cent (I would never do that now.) Great. So now I had a show at the Calgary Bingo Palace.
The day of the show arrives. I meet Dez, who is about sixty. Her face is free of laugh lines because she never smiles. Her eyes are cold and grey. This is a woman who is allergic to joy.
"Set up in the corner," she says.
A little kid comes up to her. "Missus Dez, may I go see my mom?"
"NO!" yells Dez. "YOUR MOM IS PLAYING BINGO! YOU GO PLAY WITH SOME TOYS!"
"But I want my mom-"
"GO PLAY!"
The door opens and in waddles a giant roly-poly lady and some tall skinny dude with a handlebar mustache and a leather baseball cap with the Harley Davidson logo on it. They are hauling two little kids - a boy and a girl - and both of them are screaming.
"BUT I DON'T WANNA STAY HERE!" screams the little girl. "I DON'T LIKE MISSUS DEZ! SHE'S MEAN!"
"SHADDUP!" screams the mom. "Mommy and daddy need a break from you."
Missus Dez comes over and hauls the kids away from their parents, who run to the bingo hall like flies to crap.
"QUIT YER BAWLING!" yells Missus Dez. "LOOK! WE HAVE A NICE MAGIC SHOW FOR YOU!"
The magic show was not fun. Everytime I started doing a new trick, Missus Dez would yell at a kid for running around or getting a drink without permission or breathing.
I came to hate everyone who played bingo at the Calgary Bingo Palace - at least the ones who dropped their offspring into the care of Mrs. Dez. How could someone subject their kids to such misery?
Oh yeah. I forgot. Money.
-
People play bingo for money but they also play it to be social.
My friend, Natalie, will recall the time I got to call bingo in Redvers, Saskatchewan, back in 1998. Redvers is also the home of Natalie's niece, Crystal, who, coincidentally, told me what bingo wings are. I will tell you what they are soon.
I did my bingo calling at the Redvers community hall. Most of the players were old people and they did not like the way I called the game. One old man cornered me later and screamed at me because I called the balls too fast. "YOU WAIT THIRTY SECONDS BETWEEN BALLS!" he yelled. "SOME OF US HAVE 25 CARDS WE HAVE TO MARK!"
I tried to apologize but the man wouldn't listen to me. He suggested that the world would be a happier place had I died in infancy.
He did not win any bingo games that day. This made me happy.
Natalie won one though.
"Congratulations, Shania," I said from the stage.
I used to call her Shania back then because her smile looked like Shania Twain's.
-
Once I complimented Natalie on her teeth.
She accepted the compliment.
"I do have great teeth, don't I?" she said.
Natalie used to floss while we watched TV.
-
Bingo wings: The big flabby skin that hangs from a person's triceps.
-
Once I volunteered at a bingo because it was a fundraiser for my friend, Lester's theatre company. Lester had directed my shitty play for the Winnipeg Fringe Festival in 1997 and I was returning the favour.
My job was to run people's money out to them when they won.
This one lady won $22. I handed it to her. I was all happy and I congratulated her and asked her what she was going to do with the money.
"Go away," she said. "I don't want to talk to you. I'm playing bingo."
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