Evil Bingo (Part I)
If you live in Las Vegas it is not a good idea to be into gambling. Countless people have lost everything here, which is why many of them have jumped off some of the higher buildings in the City of Lights.
As Christians my Little Rib and I do not approve of gambling at all. In particular when we lose higher amounts we get annoyed very quickly. We’re no rich people, you know. That’s why we try to reduce our gambling addiction to an occasional bingo evening. It’s affordable because you can determine the damage in your wallet before the game starts and it’s fun, too. Chances of winning aren’t that bad, either, since at least one player will win per round. You don’t have that guarantee playing slots. To broaden our chances we prefer to go in the middle of the night. Most bingo halls aren’t too crowded during that time.
People who like to make fun of bingo don’t know what they are talking about. It’s a tough and brutal sport! You need fast legs to secure a table with a good view and an ashtray; alien reflexes because the drinks are for free and the waitresses are so unbelievably fast, they are long gone by the time you raise your hand to order; tolerance for rarely seen minorities or a good way of handling them; and most of all: nerves of steel.
Last night we went out again. As soon as we entered the bingo hall I started yelling out orders: “See that table over there next to the woman doing stretching exercises? Run! I’ll get us bingo cards. Oh, and please order me two Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.”
“Roger!” My Little Rib got in motion.
Waiting in line I watched my Little Rib trying to get to one of the last smoking tables in the hall. It didn’t look good at first, but with her elbows she managed to plough through a group of senior citizens just in time. Having reached the target she grinned in my direction and held up one thumb. Totally in love I drew a heart in the air with both of my index fingers.
A little later I joined her with our cards. She had even gotten us drinks. I was so delighted I had to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Great job, Schnuckie! What are you drinking? Orange juice?”
“Mh-hm … with vodka.”
“Vodka?!”
“I wanna drink, too!”
“And who’s gonna drive us home?”
“We are going to win tonight. Enough for a cab. I can feel it!”
She dropped off the chair for some push-ups. I, too, began my warm-up: Gulp! The first Jack was gone.
The fun commenced. Through numerous speakers on the walls a female voice announced the first round. At once the room went silent. Round one: regular bingo. One complete row of numbers, horizontal, vertical or diagonal. I was so nervous, I couldn’t keep my feet still. Gulp! The second Jack was gone. Where was the waitress?
A man shouted “Bingo!” after only five drawn numbers. The heads of everybody present turned irritated in his direction. He was wearing women’s clothing, but that could not be accepted as an excuse.
“How can somebody get a bingo this fast?” my Little Rib asked. “This totally takes all the fun out of the game.” She sipped her vodka in sheer disgust.
“You better win, Schnuckie. Otherwise we’ll have to walk home.”
Second round: double bingo. Two complete rows of numbers, horizontal, vertical or diagonal. The second round was played on the same card from the first round. Therefore the man in women’s clothing had a clear advantage. And still no waitress in sight.
Additional numbers were drawn and it didn’t take long until I was only three numbers away from bingo … only two … only one. I could hardly stay calm. My eyebrows connected while I was trying to hypnotize the voice coming from the speakers. Twenty-seven, Bingo-Voice, no matter what number you draw next, I want you to breath ‘twenty-seven’ into the microphone. God, where was the waitress?! Bingo-Voice breathed: “And the next number is: Twenty…..ssssssss…..ssssssssssix!”
Somebody screamed “Bingo!” so loudly, the ice in my empty plastic cup cracked and turned to slush. The scream came from a lady sitting straight across from us.
“Finally I won again!” She expressed her euphoric emotions in German. Underneath her goofy-looking baseball cap she winked at us. Our cover was blown.
My Little Rib whispered into my hairy ear: “Crap! Now we can’t even cuss in German anymore. She knows what we are saying!”
“I couldn’t care less. I’m very calm.”
A squeaky voice behind me hollered: “Cocktails!” I felt a cool breeze on the back of my neck. When I turned around the waitress was already at the other end of the bingo hall.
I was mad and yelled: “Malicious bitch waitress!”
Mrs. Goofy-Cap agreed: “Yes, the service here is really bad.” The bingo-courier appeared and gave her a 100 Dollar payout. She took it without saying thanks and continued her small talk. “May I ask where you are from?”
“Mülheim,” my Little Rib tried to say. I know, that word doesn’t make sense to an American. It’s the name of her hometown. But the alcohol made her tongue so heavy she could only utter: “Mölöm.” That didn’t even make sense to me despite two Jacks.
“Ah, I see. And you?”
“Las Vegas. I’m an American. Always been, always be.” Yes, I’ve always been a stubborn guy.
“BINGO!!!”
We had missed the third round. “Merde!” I yelled as loud as I could, hoping that no French people were near. Again, the man in drag had won. I was pleased to see that a furious guy next to the winner used his right hand to thoroughly smear “her” make-up all the way up to the forehead.
“Cocktails!”
This time I was able to grab the waitress by the pony-tail. “Five Jack Daniel’s, please. On the rocks.”
“And I’d like twooo mo’ vodka wis or’nge shoes,” my Little Rib slurred.
-to be continued-
