I have recently taken up the sport of Bingo. Yes, I called Bingo a sport. It’s a dangerous sport. A very cutthroat, athletic event that requires all the skills and energy of an Olympian or so some of the other Bingo contestants would have you believe. They come in wearing sweatpants, hooded jackets, running sneakers and a caddy dragging in all the required Bingo accessories for a successful night.
I was completely unprepared. I had no custom made Bingo bag filled with snacks or pouches filled with daubers. (Daubers are the tubes filled with colorful ink that you use to dot your numbers as they’re called.) I had no Bingo cushion to soften the uncomfortable 1950’s dinette chairs as the night wears on. I had no little troll lucky charm or rabbit’s foot. All I had was a fistful of dollars, a dollar signed hope in my heart, and no clue. Once I figured out what I had to buy to get ready for my first Bingo event, I got myself situated and had my books and daubers spread out.
A sea of people were already there, cushions in place, a row of lucky charms in front of them, their bingo books spread out, a circle of different color daubers around them, and a mountain of snacks and sodas to boot. By the way, it’s just a rumor that the only people who play Bingo are little old, grey or white haired ladies. So not true! The average age of the people where I went to play is about 45. I kid you not.
Anyway, everyone’s seated, the noise mostly comprised of gossiping whispers and the munching of snacks. Then, all of a sudden, a hush came over the place. I thought maybe it was time to start listening for the numbers to be called. But no, that was still about 5 minutes away. I looked in the direction everyone else seemed to be looking, and there was the reason for the sudden quiet. Looming in the only entrance to the room, practically filling the whole doorway was a woman. She was not smiling; rather she had a knowing sneer, and unblinking eyes that swept the room. On her hips were holsters with shining gold daubers. Slung over her shoulder was a custom made Bingo Bag, and in one hand was an energy drink. A whisper near my left ear hissed that it was none other than The Dauber Queen.
Wow. I sat and stared. The light bounced off the shiny gold tops of her holstered daubers, and off the shiny running shoes she had on. She moved with purpose, with a cheetah like stance. My mouth dropped open as I followed her movements. She went straight for a table near the stage. That’s when I realized that people parted like the sea Moses parted, and there was a director’s chair with “Queen” stitched into the canvas material. She even had her own table and chair. This was serious business. A lone tear rolled down several people’s faces, including my own, I was surprised to discover. The Dauber Queen showed up at the last minute, erasing all hopes in the hearts of others, especially those who were there hoping against hope to win their paychecks, pension, or social security checks back.