A thrilling night out in Drayton Valley as told by my column-writing alter ego Wander Woman:
By Maria Church, Drayton Valley Western Review
Monday, April 22, 2013 12:09:19 MDT PM
I wouldn’t consider myself a gambler. Most of the risks I take in life are calculated.
Neither would I consider myself a hipster. It seems like a lot of effort and I’m simply too lazy.
But something about bingo peaked my interest last week when a friend suggested we check out Drayton Valley’s bingo scene
“It’s the newest hip thing for young people,” she said.
Whether or not she was being ironic, it sounded like an adventure with the potential for a good time.
Can’t play bingo without a dauber!
“YES,” I responded, emphatically.
So a date was set and after a last minute combing of the town for a necessary dauber, we headed down to the Drayton Valley Legion for Thursday’s bingo night.
As we entered the legion, many of my suspicions were confirmed. Bingo is intense.
Fully of giggles and naïvety, we walked past the rows of elderly bingo aficionados surrounded in piles of daubers of every colour with their game faces on.
I’m sure they were wondering what we were doing there as it quickly became obvious we had no idea what we were doing.
Lucky for us Drayton Valley’s bingo scene is full of friendly fanatics and we were taken under the wing of one of their golden ones, Lil Humber.
“I’ve been playing bingo for hundreds of years,” she assured us with a chuckle.
Humber quickly set us up with our bingo sheets, noting which ones are played when and how they each work.
As the bingo announcer started calling out the numbers, we began furiously daubing away at our sheets.
“You missed 55, here,” Humber would say, reaching over to help us out when the numbers started getting ahead of us.
When I said don’t consider myself a gambler, I should clarify that was before I had gone to bingo. I was not prepared for the excitement of bingo.
LEFT TO RIGHT: Lil Humber and Reinisa, my bingo fan friends
“Ahh, I only need two numbers!” I would note to my bingo neighbours, following that up with a hushed maniacal laugh.
“Bingo!” someone would call out in the room.
“Arrrrg so close!” we would say each time, knowing all the while that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, certainly not bingo.
As the night continued our bingo inexperience wore away. We cheered furiously when my fellow bingo newbie called out her first bingo. Followed by a win for our bingo tutor.
By the end of the night our sides were sore from laughing. One sheet was left to play.
“This one’s yours,” my bingo friends say.
Heart pumping and legs tapping on the floor, I daubed my second last number, noting the final number I needed. Then it was called…
‘‘BINGO!” I shouted. Wander Woman for the final win.
I’m still not a gambler, still not a hipster, but I can pretty much guarantee that I will be back for more bingo in the future.
– 30 –
Wander Woman 