When you play nine cards, there is still downtime — you hear the number, you stamp what needs to be stamped, and you look up and wait a moment to hear the next number — but double that and there’s no time to wait and barely any to look up. You become less of a bingo player than a bingo machine, entering a trance of B-11’s and O-72’s that isn’t broken until someone finally shouts bingo and the room lets out a collective moan. Often, the calls are premature or incorrect, but many people trash their cards regardless, as if the game ends not when a bingo is confirmed but when the focus is interrupted.
— GOD I LOVE MULTITASKING A FLEET OF BINGO CARDS. It’s the cleanest high of all! Plus there’s nothing better than housing a bunch of grabby old folks. Except, I suspect, being old and housing a bunch of stupid kids.