Bingo Bizarro

So my old buddy who razzes me weekly (and who I firmly believe is hitting on me, bless his heart) had himself some palpitations at The Bingo Hall last night.

Since this is Mayberry and everybody knows everybody - or at the very least knows somebody who can make something up about somebody - it just so happened that the lady who was waiting to get her hair cut after me Chez My One Drunk Friend caught my eye last night at Bingo and alerted me to the palpitating problem during Bingo Intermission. Ol' Paul is in his late 60's and double my size, but informed me that he had swallowed four nitro pills and was still having angina. I only knew what to do because I sat with one of The Boys during the bypass surgery of late while we watched a video of what to do when you take the 4th Nitro Pill (Answer: Call 911.)

I quickly alerted the Nurse-in-Training and figured she could at least act Nursish while all I could do is fix my hair and hope the paramedics were cute. (Just because you can't help doesn't excuse you from looking your best, I figure.) I helped him ease his way outdoors and into a chair and stayed long enough for the paramedics to get a good look at me. They whisked him off after doing all the things paramedics do when they're not taking note of the well-groomed bystanders.

Back inside, having noticed her grab Ol' Paul's wrist once he was seated, I asked the Nurse in Training (across My Mama):

Me: "Did you feel a pulse?"

Mama: "Well, of course he had a pulse."

Me: "Were you able to feel his pulse?"

Mama: "Well, OF COURSE HE HAD A PULSE!"

Me: "I KNOW HE HAD A PULSE! HE WAS ALIVE! LIVING PEOPLE HAVE PULSES! THAT WASN'T MY QUESTION!"

Mama: "You always get that way."

Me: "Was it fast or weak?"

Mama: (NOTE: Still no opportunity for the Nurse-in-Training to respond thus far.) "Don't talk to me!"

Me: "I HAVEN'T BEEN TALKING TO YOU! I'M TALKING TO THE NURSE-IN-TRAINING!"

Mama: (Sit down for this one.) "Fuck you."

Me: (Lie down for this one.) "Fuck YOU!"
(Pause...Mama will pout for the remainder of Bingo.)

Me: "So, were you able to feel his pulse?"

N-I-T: (Finally) "Yes, it was strong and a little fast."

Me: "Well, that's good, I suppose."


Now...that might have been concluded in the matter of two lines without a single Fuck You. But nooooo.....That's My Mama.

I had a mystery number on my Caller ID from here in town that made me curious, so I called down the block to see if they knew who it was. I related the abbreviated portion of the swapped Fuck Yous - more as a warning than anything - and got, "You two....."

"US TWO?" I gasped. I refrained from heaving a Fuck You in his general direction fearing that might confirm the label to which I'd already been assigned. Again, this morning, when the Nurse-In-Training and I recounted the events so that I could be sure I hadn't dementedly twisted them to suit my own agenda, she said, "We're going to have to seat the two of you at opposite ends of the table!"

"ME?!" I gasped. Now how the hell do you figure I'm the bad guy in this - or even marginally culpable, I wondered? As I told her, I might be among the 5 or 6 people on this planet to whom she should never utter a Fuck You. But I am the only one of those half dozen or so people who will absolutely, guaran-damn-teedly return it even harder than it was served up. I don't play. You talk nice or don't talk. And if you want to get in the gutter and roll around, you'd best know I have spent more time there than most. And I know allllll the words. My only role, if I have one, in what transpired at Bingo is that I didn't bow my head and take my "Fuck You" like a poor wounded lamb. Well, this is what she raised me to be. Now she can enjoy it.

And to top it all off, I didn't even win.

Bingo, that is.