-=(Sagien)=-

Why Do I Interrupt?

I have come here to tell you of a journey. A journey to a place of flashing lights. To a location defined by the deafening roar from a mob of excited gamblers. That's right, I went to Las Vegas the Taneytown, MD Municipal Volunteer fire department to play bingo.

Afinity and I sit at Main ST. waiting for the light to change, discussing pre-bingo strats - how many simultaneous cards can we handle effectively? Is it considered Gamesmanship or rude to try to distract people while the numbers are called? Do our young eyes give us an edge? - A group of 10 or so teenaged kids stroll by doing normal kid things; two in the back playfully lob snowballs at their friends. One very generous child in the front seems to have offered to carry The Massive Wooden Cross.

The procession and light hold us up and we are late. Is this Jesus' not-so-subtle way of punishing us for our dirty gambling habit? We try to slip in through the back door hoping we won't raise the ire of the masses. The mix of people is surprisingly diverse age-wise, I'm reminded of Rounders and I wonder if the stakes are different here than at an Old Folks home. Bingo grinds to a halt from our appearance; our opponents eye us up as we purchase the necessary bingo tools.

Bingo is more fun in this group setting than you would expect. We learn the normal ways to win: horizontal, vertical, diagonal, big and small square, big and small diamond. Sometimes an added value game is thrown in where you fill the whole card or try to create a letter from the alphabet. The best part is this: you get the hear peoples hopes mercilessly dashed against the rocks with the group sigh (even the occasional damn, hell, and shit) and accompanying tearing, as they crumple and throw away the now useless bingo sheets that had just seconds earlier been whatever dreams normal small-town folk have accompanying a Cash Prize of Up To Fifty Dollars.

Bingo is not as fun as you would expect. By hour 4 of bingo, the rural niceties wear off. The intelligence of 60 year old women who mistakenly call bingo is audibly questioned. This far into the night it's hard to tell whether the numbers are being called at a breakneck pace, or if we just don't have the chops for marathon bingo sessions.

We leave that first night defeated. Not truly knowing if it was a lack of experience, skill, or if Taneytown MD survives by taking $30 from rubes who are entranced by the sirens song that is bingo.