Relatively Minor
Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could indeed be ... relatively minor.
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I do not consider myself to be a coffee-holic, although I enjoy a cup or two of the warm black liquid every morning. Now and then I break ground with a special brew, but a grind of Folger’s Gourmet Supreme regularly fills my cup.
As the volume of dark powder recedes throughout the month, I search for creative ways to recycle the empty red container.
I began using one of the empty containers from the daily grind as a storage vessel for my “Mad Money”. (Defined as “a small sum of money kept in reserve for ‘minor’ expenses,” it was perfect.)
A dollar bill fits neatly through a slit cut in the plastic top. Just fill it and forget it! (At my age, “forget” tends to be more truth than fiction.) Months of saving prompted my stash to grow. Until BINGO, that is.
I haven’t played BINGO since I was a kid, so I couldn’t resist the opportunity to break into my Mad Money for a handful of dollar bills. I could win millions!
On Sunday afternoon my husband and I entered the Winterset VFW Hall to instantly be greeted by Lions. Initially I feared we were going to be their snacks – until I saw chips, cookies and candy scattered among the surrounding tables for purchase.
The room was buzzing and I could feel the adrenaline building as we chose our BINGO cards. At 50¢ a piece we both decided to expand our chances of winning the pot by selecting two. Passing tables of players, bound to increase the odds, we sat on the end of a table close to the front.
The first round was a regular game. The caller at the front table rotated the cage full of balls. “B-14!” he shouted. With each successive spin a letter and number were selected. “I-21 … N-37 … G-52,” the caller continued.
As the cage at the front table continued to spin I crossed out each number on my card until I only had one left in each of two rows.
Oh my god, I was so close my palms began to sweat.
I even envisioned what I would do with the $50 worth of winnings as I wiped the beads of anxiety off of my brow. It was now or never.
The last ball was drawn from the cage.
“O-75!”
A resounding “BINGO!” was the response.
Needless to say, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t mad. I do have another empty Folger’s Gourmet Supreme coffee container to fill, though.
www.wintersetmadisonian.com
Member of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative