Bingo
Bags
Saturday
night, a 1980s bingo hall.
The noxious
cloud cover of cigarette smolder was already imminent when Tibs and Millie
approached their usual Saturday night seats armed with bingo cards and over-sized
over-the-shoulder purses teeming with colorful dabbers, ice cold Coke, and
salty snacks. Gertie was already seated, cards organized in front of her,
puffing Cameos, her sweaty can of Sprite in its right place.
“Early
bird catches the worm, wha? Awful early, you shit the bed or something?”
Tibs opened, plunking her wide arse down on the bright orange unstable chair.
Gertie’s
lanky face coiled into an instant blush, “No, I ain’t shittin’ no beds.
Cyril had darts and made a big friggin’ fuss about me always making him late,
so he dropped me early to the bingo.”
Tibs chuckled,
“In such a hurry you forgot to crack them curlers out, wha?”
Gertie
touched her kerchiefed head in a panic, “Sufferin’ Moses, Andy!! Lucky my
head is attached on this ol’ body or I mighta forgotten that too.”
Millie’s
chair scraped loud on the grimy tiled floor scooting her chair in closer to the
table with the might of her wide girth, “Why didn’t cha call me, coulda
swung by and picked ya up. I had to get Tibs anyhow.”
Gertie
waved her thin hand, “No matter, thought it best to come and save our seats
since them there idiots tried to hork ‘em last week.” Gertie threw a
thwarted nod to a motley crew several tables down.
Tibs
scoffed, “Buncha turds. We’ve only been sittin’ here for wha, a million
years!? Like to see ‘em try again.”
It’s as
if the Head Turd heard Tibs’ jeer. She fixed her eyes on the trio and
straightened her lean to move her faded orange mop and blotchy face toward
them, “If it ain’t the Get Along Gang back for another week, hoardin’ the
lucky seats.”
Not one
for confrontation, Gertie’s face, looking smaller than it is with her head full
of rollers, turned beet red. She looked away, taking a nervous drag off her
menthol. Tibs, about to rise and meet the Head Turd’s antagonizing gaze was
stopped by the gentle hand of Millie, who calmly regarded the intrusion, “Ain’t
got nothing ta do with luck, you know that. It’s alll chance.”
Head
Turd cleared her throat, “That so? Well, maybe one a’ ya might lend out that
horseshoe ya got jammed up your collective arse. Give the rest of us a “chance”
at winnin’ a god damn game once in a while.”
Millie offered
a pregnant pause, “Ya … nah.”
That sent Head Turd, agitated,
shuffling back to her gaggle. Tibs let out a howl and high-fived Millie, “Hooligans
ain’t takin’ no foolishness, wha! Ha!”
Millie snorted, “That bunch there
reminds me of them things the grandbabies like, Garbage Patch Kids. Spit right
outta their mouth!”
Gertie shook
her head and put her cigarette out in a clean ashtray, “Let’s play already,
frig.”
Without
a game having started, Tibs’ voice filled the smoke hall, “Bingo, wha!”
her enthusiasm was met with a collective smatter of, “Shaddap.”
The
trinity got busy at their specials, concentrating on the win. Gertie’s goal of
the evening, as it was every Saturday night, was to fill her whole card and win
the Bonanza. Tibs took it home the weekend before and the weekend before that,
Millie won. So, Gertie was hoping the winning streak would continue with her
tonight.
Tibs,
aggressively dabbed her bingo books, dangerously close to winning a game by
coloring in around the FREE asked, “We gettin’ donairs tonight if we win,
wha?”
Millie
confidently replied, “Ain’t if, Tibs. It’s when.”
Gertie
turned up her nose, “Ain’t there anything else we can eat? Donairs give me
some god-awful gas and I ain’t in no mood listen to all the goin’ on Cyril will
do, especially after darts when he’s half frisky.”
Tibs cracked
up, “Two of ya need separate bedrooms. Works out good for me ‘n’ Dickie. He
snores like a sombitch and I need my beauty sleep. Plus, we gave up tryin’ ta
knock boots. All we bang anymore is bellies.”
Gertie
closed her eyes and shook her head, “Now ain’t that an appealin’ mental
picture. Lord Christ, Tibs.”
Tibs
shrugged with a hearty laugh, “Either that or D.I.V.O.R.C.E.”
“I
like my single livin’,” Millie interjected, “I can pass gas all the live
long day and ain’t no one gonna give me no guff.”
“Explains
why that tabby cat of yours disappears for days on end. Can cats even hold
their breath?”
The
three friends laughed so hard half of their table missed the caller yell out,
B5. Millie dabbed her book like a bat out of hell, “BINGO!” Shortly
thereafter she was fanning herself with a fist full of twenty-dollar bills, “Gonna
be an exxxxtra-large donair night tonight, ladies!” Tibs did her signature silly-arms-pumping
happy chair dance while Gertie rolled her eyes internally knowing full well,
she’d indulge despite her husband’s inevitable scorn. And, what the hell, she
still had her rollers in. Cyril won’t have anything to do with those suckers
wound tight on top of her pretty head.
During
a break between games, the friends started to reminisce. Head Turd and her
posse assaulted the canteen for the last of the greasy burgers, the trio stayed
seated like they always did, for fear someone might steal their seats right out
from under them, not that they were territorial or anything. Millie ripped open
a bag of Ketchup chips and began, “I miss when Gertie’s Nan still came to
the bingo with us. Eighty-four years old, sneakin’ nips of gin in her Sprite
cans, remember that?”
Tibs,
with a hunk of Oh Henry in her mouth said, “Oh, I miss me some Nanny Mona,
she was a friggin’ hoot, wha. Little bugger was always walkin’ off with my pink
dabbers, only ones she could see good.”
Gertie
nodded, “Wasn’t so funny though when she finally lost all her hearin’ and
yelled Bingo on the Bonanza and never had one god damn number that was called,
remember that!?”
Millie’s
eyes went wide, “How could ya forget that!? Lil ‘ol bitty near started a
riot in the bingo hall! She was some sweet though.”
Tibs
banged her meaty paw on the wobbly table in a fit of remembrance almost
knocking the open Cokes over, “Remember that feller, stayed with the
what’s-their-nuggets up the road there by the store!? Went and streaked bare
arse naked right up through the bingo hall, in a Jesus snowstorm no less! From
the front door right on down the back!”
Millie
all but keeled over wiping tears from her eyes, wheezing, “Oh my gentle
Jesus yes! Drunk as a god damn skunk he was. Ain’t ever gonna forget that pasty
white flat-as-a-pancake arse.”
Gertie,
characteristically, shook her head full of wonky curlers, “Didn’t have a
whole bunch goin’ on in the front either.”
Tibs
and Millie said in unison, “Bush whacker!”
The
three friends laughed so hard the caller sternly requested, in the microphone,
they simmer down. This, to be clear, was not an isolated incident. It was,
however, enough to settle their kettles enough to focus on the task at hand,
winning bingo.
It was
a tense night of bingo. Millie won a few cards, Tibs won a few and now it was
Gertie’s turn. Gertie and Head Turd were set for the Bonanza. Gertie, waiting
on N46, Head Turd holding out for O75. Millie, completely out of character
started to pray, the more the sweat gathered on Gertie’s top lip, the harder
she implored to the good Lord Jesus for her friend to cash in even though she
knew it unholy to muse on a sort of gamble.
The
caller announced, “O74 …”
Head
Turd cursed, “Come awwwwwwn!”
The caller
called out the next number, “B10 …” Head Turd growled, Gertie’s nervous
frame started to rock back and forth.
The
caller called out the next number, “N … 46 …”
Millie
and Tibs called it at the same time, “BINGO!”
Head Turd
wailed, “God dammit!”
Gertie,
wide eyed, looked at her friends, “Cheese and crackers, did I just go and
win the friggin’ Bonanza!?”
Tibs
gave her friend a fat slap on her lean back, “Donairs gonna be on you now,
wha?!”
Gertie
laughed, “Heck sure, but we ain’t eatin’ them at my place! Rather Cyril
didn’t know I got any extra in my pocket.”
Millie
piped up, “Come on girls, let’s get us some food and scarf ‘er down at my
place.”
Gertie
nodded, “Done deal.”
Crowded
around Millie’s single woman’s small kitchen table, the friends inhaled their
meaty nibbles – thick slices of spiced beef on warm pita bread, topped with
generous chunks of onion and tomato, then drizzled with the Donair’s signature
sweet garlicy sauce which inevitably ended up dripping from their fingers and
faces.
Tibs
broke the snack silence, “Ain’t even sure what I love more, Donairs or
eatin’ them with y’all.”
Millie
concurred, “Don’t even taste the same if I ain’t eatin’ them with you guys.”
Gertie
sipped a fresh Sprite, “All that stuff is true for sure, I just love winnin’
a wad of money. I ain’t gotta job like you two. Cyril only gives me
enough enough allowance for the bingo.”
Tibs
scoffed, wiping her chin with a napkin, “Well frig you too then, wha!”
Gertie
rolled her eyes, “Don’t go twistin’ the words comin’ outta my mouth, Tibs.
I’m just sayin’, all of it, goin’ to the Bingo, winnin’, havin’ donairs like
this here, well, it’s what I most look forward to. ‘Cause, Millie ‘n’ you, well,
you’re my best friends. I ain’t ever had friends like y’all before I moved
here. I appreciate yas.”
Millie
smiled, reached and gave Gertie’s shoulder a warm friendly rub in agreement.
Tibs hung her head, “Well shit.”
Gertie
replied, “It’s all good, Tibs. I know you ain’t got a lotta time for
feelins and all. I ain’t never learned now to not be so damn sensitive.”
Tibs
looked up at her friend, “Oh, ain’t that. I just dropped a pound a’ the
sauce down in my titties. Pass me that there napkin will ya.”
***
I’ve been plucking
away at this snapshot for what feels like eons. It isn’t meant to be long, more
like, (as with everything these days), a writing exercise. Just to keep my imagination
and my fingers moving. No pretensions here. A few chuckles maybe, but all in
fun.
If you took a
second to read, thank you. I hope you had fun.
In propinquity,
Nic