Bingo, a bored tattoo artist from Noughuairesville

You shift your focus from the card on the table in front of you to the half-empty beer bottle next to it. The too-bright yellow lights of the Noughuairesville Game Hall's ceiling shine through the brown glass and leave weirdly dancing shadows over the dice tattooed on your wrist. You keep shifting your gaze, from this to that, in your half-drunk state, but still managing to listen for the numbers and return to your card.

"B17!" The lady calling numbers managed to sound like at least she'd rather be doing this than sleeping.

You sway a bit, noting that B14 is your only remaining square in the column, and take a second to check out Lynda. She's sitting across from you smiling at you. She brought you here, thinking it must be some kind of obsession, or even hobby, of yours, given the single nickname by which everyone knows you... but apparently you haven't been dating for long enough for her to have learned the trivia. Still it was a nice gesture, and it has kinda been on your list to actually come to one of these places and see all the..."

"B14!"

You're a little fuzzy sure, but you hear your number loud and clear. You stand up try to remember... oh yeah. "Bingo!" you shout, and without knowing or caring if it's the fashion at these events, you do your finger guns.

That's where you got the name Bingo from, not from the game! It was that goofball character's catchphrase on Up & About, the cheesy 80s sitcom. Other characters would be like, "Looking sharp man, got a hot date tonight?" and he'd do the finger guns and say "Bingo!" Whatever, you did it as a kid and it stuck. It stuck all the way through highschool, on to the first few part-time job nametags, and eventually when you opened your own studio, Bingo's Body Art, it stuck on your business card. It's your name for all but your birth certificate and your taxes.

"Bingo!" You say, and right away something is weird. Last time this raving lady won the last round, people cheered, and some people groaned, but you're holding up your card now and approaching the front to have your numbers checked, and people are exclaiming "Ohhhhh" or "Ahha!"

The weirdest part is a lot of them seem to be following you to the front, Bingo cards in hand. Not everybody can win a round, right?

You hand your card to the caller to check the numbers, but she pushes it back at you gently. "Oh no need sir, I'm sure it's a winner but of course even if another card's a winner, that card would still be yours too!"

What the hell is she talking about? How drunk are you really though? You look down at the piece of paper.

"OFFICIAL BINGO CARD" it says at the top. The winning line is the B column, all filled in properly. What's the deal?

So the woman hands you the prize, a $50 gift card to HooHas. You pocket the card and return to your seat, but you're waylaid. Almost everyone in the hall is now standing, and many of them have approached you, a slowly shuffling, sheepish-looking horde, the ones in front holding their Bingo cards and thrusting them towards you. "Take it," says one.

"Go ahead, didn't mean nothing by it..."

"Here mister, these are yours..."

What the fuck? You push the people aside and find your way to Lynda. "Lynda what the hell is this? You pranking me or someth..."

"Here just take the cards, Bingo, we shoulda asked you before writing all over 'em."

You swat the cards from Lynda's hands and run from the place. When this date started you thought it was going okay, but damn this chick is crazy or something, forget it.

Only a few minutes later, you pull your bike into the drive and toss your new gift card on the coffee table. The quiet sounds of the woods at night soothe your mind a little after that weirdo prank Lynda played. You had enjoyed your other dates with her, never seen any sign she'd flash mob you or have some weird role play thing going on or whatever that was. No need to think about it anyway.

You watch some TV, eat some pie, and hit the hay.