Meanwhile, back at the bingo hall...

It had been ages since I played bingo with my friend Val, the Bingo Queen.  So, when she asked me if I'd like to go on Friday, I didn't hesitate.  I had bought my own dabbers since our last outing, and I was looking forward to cracking the seals on those puppies.

Val and I played one game starting from 4 pm.  Then our respective menfolk joined us for the second game starting at 7 pm.  All told I was at bingo for six hours.  That's quite a lot of bingo.

I'll spare you the tension: we didn't win one red cent.  We gambled every which way from Tuesday: the regular book games; the "specials"; the X,T, and L bonuses; the Toonie Pot; and lots and lots of Balls.  What did we have to show for it at the end of the day?  Bupkis.

(I just looked up the meaning of "bupkis" to make sure I was using it and spelling it correctly, and discovered that it is derived from a Yiddish word meaning "goat poop".  That sounds about right.)

I remembered from our last visit that the bingo hall contains a small cafeteria.  I was going to need to put some dinner in my belly at some point.  I figured I was covered.  When we arrived, around 3:30 pm, I took a spin through the food vending area to see what was on the menu.

Greasy, breaded fish filets and limp fries in steam trays.  Also, some kind of dark meat cutlets, identified as "Salisbury steak", sitting in a sauce of caramel-pudding-like consistency and colour.  If that was any kind of steak, I'm Justin Bieber's mom.

I hoped very hard that this was the dregs of the lunch menu, and that there would be something fresh come dinnertime.

6:30 rolled around and there was a break between games.  I moseyed on over to the cafeteria, and guess what was sitting in those steam trays?  The same food that was there when I last took a peek, 3 hours previously.

Fortunately I discovered that they would make a BLT to order, if I was willing to stand and wait for it.  I was.  Actually, it was a darn good sandwich.

I'm surprised by how much tolerance I had for bingo this time around.  Oddly, because I wouldn't have considered it a "skill", my ability to play bingo has improved.  It's not as confusing or as stressful as it used to be.  I can even carry on a simple conversation while keeping up with the caller.  I won't necessarily be paying attention to the pattern we're aiming for, but Val keeps an eye on my cards.  Even reading them upside-down across the table she can tell better than I how close I am to a win.

There's something meditative and comforting about marking off the numbers with nice round, bright circles of coloured ink.  It's aesthetically pleasing.  I always pick a dabber colour that will complement the colour of the cards.

Next time Val said we're going to go to a different hall that's less crowded.  Fewer players = a higher chance of winning.  We've been to the other hall before, around 2 years ago.  Their cafeteria was better.