Page 57 of Just The Way You Aren't

“Hi, Mrs. Horowitz! Hi, Titan! Who’s a good boy.” I scratch Titan behind the ears. “Mr. Price, how’s the foot?”

“Still got the gout,” the old man grumbles. “Nothing winning fifty dollars at bingo won’t cure, though.” He wags his eyebrows at me.

I laugh and shake my finger at him. “I’m not going to throw bingo. Not even for your gout.”

He chuckles and I go to greet the other six seniors standing in line, then unlock the New Day door. The seniors file in and find their usual seats. No one would ever make the faux pas of sitting in someone else’s seat. They might as well have carved their names into the tables.

Damien trails along at the end of the group, then stands next to me as I get out the cards. Mrs. Horowitz buys six as usual, then gives Titan a biscuit. “We’re going to win today, Titan!”

Titan munches happily, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s a lucky charm.

Mr. Price buys five, while other seniors trickle in. It’s still twenty minutes before the game starts, but they like to get situated.

Damien checks out the front, turning the handle on the ball cage and looking at the prize table. There are, indeed, envelopes with money, but also items of equivalent value such as a coffee maker, bags of hard candies, and even one Echo Dot.

“Mr. Price has been eyeing that one for weeks,” I tell Damien quietly when I get done handing out bingo cards. I point at the Echo Dot. “He likes this ‘newfangled technology.’”

Damien smiles. “Well, then, I hope he wins it.”

“I hope so, too,” I admit. I look at the bingo cage and an idea strikes me. “Would you like to call the game tonight?”

He looks at me, confused. “Do what now?”

I point to the cage. “You just crank it a few times between numbers, take out a ball, and read what’s on it aloud.”

He looks at the cage, looks at me, looks at the cage, then shrugs. “It doesn’t sound too complicated.”

“Good.” I go back to passing out cards, and daubers to those who didn’t bring their own. The exact moment it is 6 p.m., I wave to Damien. “You’d better start, or the natives will get restless.”

Damien nods and cranks the cage a few times, then fiddles the trap door open and pulls out a ball. “G-52.”

“Louder!” Mrs. Vernon yells. She always takes a spot at the very back of the room, even though she has worse hearing than a rock.

Damien clears his throat. “G-52!” he calls again.

“Bingo?” Mr. Callahan asks, looking at me.

I come over and pat him on the shoulder. “Not yet. How about I sit next to you and help?”

He nods and I pull up a folding chair.

Damien starts to put the ball back in the cage. There is a collective gasp of horror.

“No, no, no,” Mrs. Horowitz says. “You put the ball on the tray so you can keep track of which ones you’ve already called.”

“Oh,” Damien says, quickly pulling his hand back. “Sorry.” He sets the ball in the tray next to the cage. He glances around while the seniors look at him expectantly.

“Next ball, honey,” Mrs. White says.

“Right.” Damien’s cheeks flush and he winds the crank again. He pulls out another ball. “B-14!”

Mr. Callahan is about to call ‘bingo’ again, but I pat his hand and shake my head. “Not yet.”

Again, Damien almost puts the ball back in the cage, then stops himself and puts it in the tray. He rubs the back of his neck.

“You can go a little faster, honey,” Mrs. White says kindly. “We’re not completely senile yet.”

He holds up his hands. “Hey, it’s my first day on the job. Cut me some slack.”

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