Friday, January 27, 2012
When I got to the Soldiers Home tonight, the Bingo room felt off. And empty. There were only six people there, and Greg the Bingo caller was sitting at the front of the room in a lonely chair without any Bingo equipment.
I asked Dorothy whether Bingo had been cancelled—or held at 2 p.m. like last week. She didn’t think so. I called Terry the volunteer coordinator, but of course it was way past office hours, and I didn’t reach her. So Dorothy and I took matters—and the 4,000-pound Bingo machine—into our own hands, and wheeled in the gear.
By the time we got going, the crowd had swelled to 10. After nine winners, I realized we were just waiting for George to yell Bingo. We all laughed as I wheeled over the cart and told him he could pick the No. 10 prize early.
Ray McDade came a little late. “It kind of feels as if Bingo is falling apart,” I told him. “Where is everyone?”
“Bingo kind of comes and goes in phases,” Ray said. And I suppose it does.
I spent a lot of time in the back of the room tonight, at the table with the very funny and sweet Harriet and Doris, and with Dorothy nearby. Harriet was concerned that my back was sore (it was, between cleaning up storm debris and hauling the 4,000-pound bingo cart), and we laughed about tonight’s amusing Bingo gift: a trucker calendar. Twelve months of giant honkin’ semis, in glorious Technicolor. (We finally talked Jim into it.)
Toward the middle of Bingo, a few more people came in, and at one point we reached a critical mass of 12. The crowd didn’t last long, but Bingo sure did. I hugged Ray goodnight and told him I was looking forward to our Valentine’s dinner, and then I walked out with Dorothy, Harriet and Doris—the dedicated Bingo girls.
When I got to the Soldiers Home tonight, the Bingo room felt off. And empty. There were only six people there, and Greg the Bingo caller was sitting at the front of the room in a lonely chair without any Bingo equipment.
I asked Dorothy whether Bingo had been cancelled—or held at 2 p.m. like last week. She didn’t think so. I called Terry the volunteer coordinator, but of course it was way past office hours, and I didn’t reach her. So Dorothy and I took matters—and the 4,000-pound Bingo machine—into our own hands, and wheeled in the gear.
By the time we got going, the crowd had swelled to 10. After nine winners, I realized we were just waiting for George to yell Bingo. We all laughed as I wheeled over the cart and told him he could pick the No. 10 prize early.
Ray McDade came a little late. “It kind of feels as if Bingo is falling apart,” I told him. “Where is everyone?”
“Bingo kind of comes and goes in phases,” Ray said. And I suppose it does.
I spent a lot of time in the back of the room tonight, at the table with the very funny and sweet Harriet and Doris, and with Dorothy nearby. Harriet was concerned that my back was sore (it was, between cleaning up storm debris and hauling the 4,000-pound bingo cart), and we laughed about tonight’s amusing Bingo gift: a trucker calendar. Twelve months of giant honkin’ semis, in glorious Technicolor. (We finally talked Jim into it.)
Toward the middle of Bingo, a few more people came in, and at one point we reached a critical mass of 12. The crowd didn’t last long, but Bingo sure did. I hugged Ray goodnight and told him I was looking forward to our Valentine’s dinner, and then I walked out with Dorothy, Harriet and Doris—the dedicated Bingo girls.
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