They play Bingo in the nursing-care center three or four times a week. Lots of groups come out regularly—Alcoholics Anonymous, the Puyallup VFW Auxiliary, Military Officers, schools and Scouts—bearing gifts and snacks. A crowd of 20 to 25 regulars, plus the occasional newcomer, shows up to play every time.
A few times a month it’s Home Bingo, with prizes provided by the Home, and volunteers handling the bingo verifications and prize distribution. Raymond calls the numbers, and Jim, a sweet man with a Purple Heart Combat Veteran cap, is second in command.
At the veterans home, Bingo is more than a game. It’s something to look forward to, it’s a time to get out and get together and it’s totally serious competition.
We play three sets of 10 regular bingo games, then a game of blackout, where you have to cover your entire card to win, then we repeat the whole thing. Inevitably, a couple people with only a regular bingo will yell "bingo" during the blackout game. Inevitably, a couple people will yell back, "It’s blackout!"
But one of those hot summer nights, when the air-conditioner was merely dripping slippery condensation into puddles on the floor, the mood turned a little darker.
The game was blackout, and already at least three people had miscalled "bingo." By the fourth time, patience was thin.
"Bingo!" came the exuberant, but totally wrong, call.
"It’s blackout, you MORON!" came the reply.
A few times a month it’s Home Bingo, with prizes provided by the Home, and volunteers handling the bingo verifications and prize distribution. Raymond calls the numbers, and Jim, a sweet man with a Purple Heart Combat Veteran cap, is second in command.
At the veterans home, Bingo is more than a game. It’s something to look forward to, it’s a time to get out and get together and it’s totally serious competition.
We play three sets of 10 regular bingo games, then a game of blackout, where you have to cover your entire card to win, then we repeat the whole thing. Inevitably, a couple people with only a regular bingo will yell "bingo" during the blackout game. Inevitably, a couple people will yell back, "It’s blackout!"
But one of those hot summer nights, when the air-conditioner was merely dripping slippery condensation into puddles on the floor, the mood turned a little darker.
The game was blackout, and already at least three people had miscalled "bingo." By the fourth time, patience was thin.
"Bingo!" came the exuberant, but totally wrong, call.
"It’s blackout, you MORON!" came the reply.
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