Every Thursday at 1:30 I call bingo at the Maple Court senior center, and I want to be clear that I am not good at it.1
I got the job by accident. My mom works in the front office there and the old caller, a retired mailman named Gil, had cataract surgery the week of the Halloween party, so she volunteered me without asking. I was fifteen. I read the numbers too fast, I said "B-nine" when it was "B-six" twice, and a woman named Dottie threw a chip at me. Not hard. But she aimed.2
What I didn't understand that first day is that bingo at Maple Court is not about bingo.3 Nobody there needs to win a Dollar Tree gift bag.4 It's about the forty minutes where everyone in the room is doing the same thing at the same time and nobody is waiting for a nurse or a phone call from a son in Arizona. The game is just the excuse.
So I got better at the excuse. I slowed down. I learned you have to say every number twice, once for the people with hearing aids and once for the people who are pretending they don't need them. I learned that Mr. Abernathy plays six cards5 and will cover the wrong square on purpose if Ruth hasn't won in a while, and that if you notice this you do not say anything6. I started reading the numbers with little facts attached, "G-fifty-two, the year Mrs. Kaplan got married," which I only know because she has told me about forty times. People started requesting numbers. That is not how bingo works but I allow it.
The hard part came last spring. Dottie stopped coming. Her daughter told my mom she had moved to the memory care wing on the other side of the building, which at Maple Court is a door with a keypad7. I asked if I could run a game over there and the activities director said sure, but don't expect much.
She was right, sort of. Half the room didn't know what the cards were for. One man kept trying to give me his. Dottie sat in the front and looked at me like I was somebody she'd met once, which I guess I was. I called the first number and nothing happened. I called it again. Then I said "B-six, not B-nine, Dottie," and she laughed8, a real laugh, and said "you idiot," and for a second she was all the way there.
I don't want to make it sound like I cured anything. She didn't remember me the next week. But I've thought about that moment more than almost anything else in high school. I think people assume being useful means having the right answer9, and for most of my life I believed that too, I was the kid who studied for vocab quizzes like they were the SAT. At Maple Court nobody needs me to be right. They need me to show up at 1:30, say every number twice, and notice who hasn't won in a while.
I want to study nursing, probably with a focus on older adults, which surprises people because I'm seventeen and most of my friends would rather do anything than spend Thursdays with eighty-year-olds. But I've never been more sure of anything.10 I'm still not a great bingo caller. I'm a good one for this room, and I'm starting to think that's a different skill.