Guys, I played grownup bingo for the first time yesterday and it hurt.
Grownup bingo is not for pussies, but as I learned yesterday, I’m one giant pussy.
It takes a brave man or woman to sit in such a high-stress environment surrounded by dialogue boxes of smoke and florescent lights loaned from UT’s football stadium.
If you’re unfamiliar with how grownup bingo works, I will give you the lowdown. I’m going to give you the lowdown through the eyes of a 7 year-old because that’s how I felt yesterday (and I’m feeling lazy today): we were in this BIG pink room in parking lot near the highway and there were all these tables filled with people smoking cigarettes with these big, metal balloons next to them (the 29 year-old in me will translate that to “oxygen tanks”). We bought bingo sheets and some of us even bought these little computer thingies that help you mark your bingo cards. I bought a bingo marker with a shiny blue top! I also bought two bingo sheets which meant I had to look at 24 bingo cards every time a number was called. My brain hurt. It hurt real bad. Next time I play, I will buy that little computer thingy that helps me search the cards since NOBODY ACTUALLY PLAYS BINGO FAIRLY ANYMORE (the 29 year-old me talking). I looked like a giant goofball (29 year-old translation: “pussy”) with my shiny blue top marker and two bingo sheets and no computer thingy. All the people with metal balloons were laughing at me! Just like in school.
(Note: I’m fairly certain it is against the law to have an ass-load of cigarette smokers hanging out next to a bunch of oxygen tanks, but that is how my memory serves me. To me, a bingo hall is the phrase “get rich or die trying” personified).
I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to grownup bingo, though I’ll admit that the confusion of it all was slightly exhilarating. I was a fish out of water; I had no idea what language the bingo players and staff spoke, and truthfully, I’m ok with that (I keep telling the disappointed 7 year-old in me).
Below is a photo of our bingo marker POWER. The allegiance of individuals who still use their markers and NO machines. We are kind of like the Power Rangers, but sadder.
5 Comments
I love grown up bingo. But my husband refuses to go anymore, because he starts hyperventilating before we’re done. It’s apparently too stressful. You just confirmed that he’s not insane…
Yeah, I almost had a panic attack last night. I had nightmares too!
Bingo is serious business. I used to go with my grandma and those is people don’t dick around.
I got roped into bingo with my 2 sisters, mom and grandma one night. It was a similar experience to yours with the little bingo markers.
I only had 1 bingo sheet thankfully, not 24. It was boring and I didn’t want to play anymore. But 1 of my sister’s won $500 so the night wasn’t a complete bust.
Those players with the computers are serious peeps.
Dude! I wish one of us won $500! That’s awesome!