Bingo!

I admit it. I love Bingo. I go weekly. I am not the youngest, the malest, nor the gayest person in the VFW Hall each week. And I win. A lot. I am the scourge of rural Bingo, if you listen in on some of the geriatric conversations. I have brought an impermissible amount of mojo with me that provides an illegal advantage over everyone else. I must be cheating. This is quite nearly the highlight of my week.

The retired music teacher from the local high school actually keeps track of how many more times I've won than he has. It's a running joke...sort of. When I won twice last night, he touched my elbow as I passed and notified me that the number was now 4. He doesn't know my last name. But he knows I've won 4 more times than he has since I started attending. While I was gone from the table briefly to fetch a burger and coke, one old lady groused to my tablemates that "last week was probably the only time he's been here that he didn't win." She's wrong. It had been three weeks since I'd won. But I have them psyched out to where they believe I've won even when I didn't. I know it's wrong to beat up on old people - even psychologically - but it's given me quite the perverse little boost.

Bingo has its own culture, such as it is. There are courtesies, faux pas, and rules of conduct - some explicit, some unspoken. Thou shalt not celebrate excessively. Thou shalt not complain about the smoke. Thou shalt act apologetic and embarrassed if you win more than once in an evening. It's two hours of reverent attention to the words from one man's mouth that bears a strong resemblance to church. Only instead of taking a collection, there are actually disbursements. Church has its own pay-off, I suppose. But you can use your Bingo winnings at the store.

Bingo has moments of high drama and tension that rival any sporting event. Not much compares with hoping for the one final number to launch you into the winner's circle. I'm a little surprised there aren't more strokes at Bingo, given the average age of the participants. My own untenably high blood pressure remains unchanged after a week of not smoking and double doses of medication. I doubt Bingo is to blame. I had hoped that not smoking would have a tangible pay-off, like Bingo does. I was wrong. And I'm a little concerned.

I'm a sucker for short-term reinforcement. Delayed gratification is a stranger to my doorstep. It was true in my career. It's true when I shop. If I bring home 3 shirts and 2 pairs of pants from the store, I will wear them all within 48 hours. If I buy 3 kinds of chips and 2 boxes of snack crackers, I'll have them all open within 24 hours. I have great difficulty denying myself anything. That makes the smoking accomplishment all the more impressive - to me, at least.

I would like it if dating were a bit more like Bingo and a bit less like church. I understand the Walk By Faith, Not By Sight concept of living well in hopes that the afterlife will bring great reward. As a dating parallel, however, that's a crap shoot, at best. I don't think I want to be a good person on the off chance that I'll find Mr. Right. I think there must be a lot of bitter, formerly-good, people in the afterlife who did the right thing and had jack to show for it.

Leave me in the smoky, snarling VFW Hall of love where I have a better than average chance of winning on a regular basis and losing never lasts the whole month. I'm ready again.

Call my number, dammit.