KNOW WORRIES #17 - "Six Gay Guys Walk into a Bingo Hall"

Based on a true story...

I’ve been accused of being an “old soul” for as long as I can remember, which by my count, is somewhere around four hundred years. Okay, so that last bit isn’t exactly true, but it does illustrate the point. And that point is “old soul” is really just a polite way of saying “weird grown-up little kid who seems like maybe they just fell out of an old book or an oil painting or something.”

And honestly, that’s fair. I mean, I was kind of an odd child, and I did keep to myself a lot, and I was very self-serious. And knowing what I know now about me (whichever way you’re reading into that, it’s probably correct), I’m sure I probably seemed exactly like some weird grown-up little kid who maybe just fell out of an old book or an oil painting or something. So, I’m not saying I resent being called an old soul. Not at all. On the contrary, I’m saying I think those people were onto something.

Because honestly, I’ve always been a little unstuck in time, to borrow phrase from a much better writer. I’m not sure I’ve ever really been the correct age, now that I think about it. When I was a kid, I was too concerned with trying to be adult, and now that I am an adult, my inner child is holding out his empty bowl and begging for more gruel, and holy shit am I giving it to him. See, he and I have an agreement now: I buy him all the cool toys he wants, and he keeps the trauma train running on time so that I can continue to be funny. It’s a win/win/lose/win/lose/win/lose.

Basically, I’ve always felt that I was twenty years ahead of where I should be in certain respects, and twenty years behind in many others. When I was a kid, I used to fall asleep reading the Encyclopedia Brittanica so I would be ready when Jeopardy called (absolutely true, by the way), and then I didn’t get into Pokémon until I was well into my thirties. Now, in my defense, Pokémon Go was absolutely amazing back in the day, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of the other millennials, so…

But that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’m all over the place, and I always have been. I’m either too early to the party, and I have to just kinda stand around awkwardly offering to help while I play around on my phone, or I’m too late to the party, and the Chex Mix has already been picked clean and there’s no little rye crackers left. At just about every stage of my life, I seem to be doing the wrong thing, and that’s still true to this day, because I seem to have retired. By accident. Whoops.

Pretty cool, right? Retiring in your early forties? Pretty much the dream. Now, if you were to ask me, “But Jonathan, how did you possibly manage to acquire enough wealth to support yourself for the rest of your life at the tender age of 43?” I would tell you I have absolutely no idea, because that is not what has happened. At all.

You see, I’m retired except for the “you don’t have to work anymore” part. In fact, I am working just as much if not more than I ever have right now, and there seems to be no end in sight. But like other than that, I’m retired. Other than the job part. Other than work. Other than having to be employed full time to pay for myself to be alive…I’m fully retired. Apparently.

I know. It surprised me too. But I think it’s been a slow and steady progression since the pandemic, and I just haven’t noticed it until now. People say life just gets boring as you get older, but I’m not sure that’s true. It’s not that life gets boring, it’s that exciting stuff gets annoying. And that’s particularly true for my generation, who has rightfully learned to equate excitement with anxiety after a lifetime of breaking news alerts. So, for a lot of us, the boring stuff has become the exciting stuff, because peace of mind is now considered exciting, because it’s damn near extinct.

So, it’s all just kinda snuck up on me. And now I just read and I watch my stories and I play my little games on my phone in the morning. And I eat dinner a little earlier each day and I complain a lot about a lot of different things, and I’m awfully confused almost all the time so this is really starting to add up. Honestly (except for that work bit) I’m absolutely crushing my golden years right now. Like I have moved to Miami and I’m wearing very flowy clothing. And I’ve sworn a blood oath against Home Depot because they just don’t know how to treat people right like they do over at Lowe’s.

Now, this has been building for years, but it really seems to have picked up the pace lately. I have no idea why, though. Not like things have been stressful (extensive teeth grinding). Anyway, sometimes you find yourself in a moment that really hangs a lantern on just how much things have changed, no matter how gradually it’s happened. And sometimes that place is far away where you have space to really take stock. And sometimes that place is home where a glance at the past is all you need to truly see the present. And sometimes that place is a bingo hall just outside of [REDACTED], Virginia.

That’s right. I’ve played bingo. More than once. Lately. Now, hear me out…

We have a friend, and that friend is a volunteer firefighter, and on Saturdays, he helps out at the fire hall where they do bingo. So, in support of our friend, we went to play bingo one night, and it was…awesome.

Now, hear me out…

That wasn’t what I expected either. I’ve been out of the bingo loop for a long time, so I wasn’t exactly sure what we’d find. My grandfather used to take me when I was a kid, and that was always a really good time, as well as probably a very serious violation of several state gaming statutes, but that was years ago. Things have changed since then. I’vechanged since then. I’m no longer a wide-eyed little kid who’s just happy to sit there and fill in the little squares as perfectly as possible while I wait for a really satisfying little pattern to appear. I’m a grown-ass adult who’s happy to sit there and fill in the little squares as perfectly as possible while I wait for a really satisfying little pattern to appear.

Let me tell you something right now. If you are anywhere on the spectrum. If you are even on the very outskirts of the spectrum. If you can see the spectrum at all from where you’re currently situated, bingo is simply the most fun you can possibly have for $25. It’s well-organized. It’s quiet. It’s task-oriented but also easy enough that you won’t get stressed out. I mean, it’s an entire industry based solely around pattern recognition, so like…things don’t really get more autistically coded than that. It is very very satisfying, even if you don’t win. Because really, as long as you’ve filled in the numbers perfectly, the rest is just gravy.

Sure, the crowd can be a little rough around the edges sometimes (all the time), but that’s no different than any casino (some casinos) I’ve been to. But so what? Those are my people. I am of their stock. And you know what? As a writer, there’s nothing I love more than some good people watching. Much better than people talking or even people listening, frankly. Really, pretty much the best thing you can do in any situation with any number of other people.

It’s like if you took everyone from inside a Walmart on any given Sunday, and asked them all if they like to gamble. Then if you rounded up everyone who raised their hands and everyone who was too ashamed to make eye contact, that’s pretty much your crowd. And not one of those fancy new Walmarts with the big bakery and the nice coffee shop, either. One of the old ones with the really narrow aisles and the stain from the Kmart sign still above the door. Now, all of that might sound a little judgy, but if you knew my grandfather, you’d understand just how spot on that description actually is.

And I know, I know. People watching goes both ways. Everyone’s something of a spectacle at bingo, and I’m sure we were no exception. It’s not like I didn’t feel two hundred eyes burning their way over to the only table seated with six gay men. I honestly thought we could make it through the whole evening without being too obvious. I even gave everyone a little pep talk before we walked in, but one of us got bingo during the second game, and there was simply no blending in after that little outburst. I had high hopes, but there’s one in every group with no volume knob, believe me.

So, yeah. Now we play bingo on Saturdays. But that’s not that bad, right? I mean, it’s not like I play pickleball on Saturdays.

I play pickleball on Sundays. And sometimes on Tuesday nights. Now, hear me out…

Okay, I’ve got nothing. I just really enjoy it. It’s a lot of fun and good (better than a non-zero amount of) exercise. So, go ahead and get your jokes out of the way now. I’ll wait. I’ve heard them all before anyway. “Don’t forget your depends! Too old for real tennis? Oh, you gonna go beat up on Marge and Karen down at the rec center this weekend?” Well, first of all, I am too old for real tennis. So write that down. And second, that all might be very funny, but it’s also ridiculous. Because those two bitches know better than to show their faces at the rec center unless they wanna get embarrassed in front of their grandkids again. Don’t @ me, Marge.

There’s been other signs, too, but I’ve just been too blind to notice. I go to trivia night at the bar, but I won’t drink because I don’t want to deal with the heartburn. I’ve started developing real feelings of hatred towards this one tree in my neighbor’s yard that just doesn’t jive with the rest of the landscaping. And like, it wouldn’t even be such a big deal but it’s riiiight in the middle of his yard and he keeps it really well mulched, so you just know he put it there himself. And don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I even go to the mall just get a good walk in when it’s too cold outside.

So, basically, it’s over for me. I’ve retired well before my time (except for the whole job thing) and I just don’t see any way back. And that’s because I like it here. It’s nice. It’s the perfect amount of exciting, which is almost none. And it’s also the perfect amount of interesting, which is off the fucking charts on Saturday nights. So, I’m not exactly sure how old my soul is at this point, but I think it’s safe to say it’s pushing 70. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go catch up on my stories. And by that, I mean get back to work.