7 Feb
Chickenshit Bingo
My Uncle Bob is an accomplished man whose mild manners keep him from being easily excited. However, mild mannered is not to be confused with boring, he has a knack for finding memorable unique hole in the wall side excursions during his vacations. Having never traveled with him before I had yet to learn what this meant, but since he’s had this reputation long before Google existed, I knew we were in for treat.
After attending my cousin Liz’s beautiful country wedding in the outskirts of Austin Texas we drove back into town with our few days left on the trip. We rubbed our hands together as we looked to Uncle Bob for what he had in store. When he said we were heading to a little bar that had country music I thought he was joking. In Texas? Who would’ve thought!? No smirk, no wink, no “you don’t even know”. From his description it sounded like any other redneck bar Texas has a plethora of.
Hmmmm.
OK.
Uncle Bob, Auntie Di, Mom, Dad, Lindsey, Bobby, Fiona, Thwing, Delia, Mel, Amy and myself crammed into two cars and made our way on secondary highways passing strip malls that were a far cry from the wild west.
We parked, not mind you, on a dusty road under a lone scraggly pine tree, like you would expect in Texas, but on the same concrete covered strip we had been driving on. Wasn’t looking good for Uncle Bob’s reputation.
The sign read, “Ginny’s Little Longhorn Saloon”.
Sigh.
Well if we must. After you.
Inside things immediately started to look up as fulsome rough cut floorboards led us past a buffet of free hot dogs. What? FREE HOT DOGS? My 12 point spur rowels spun wildly. How is this possible? Is this being subsidized by the Bush administration? Obviously it was, there could be no other explanation. Wait what’s this? $1 Lone Stars! (local swill) Dinner and beers for the night for $5. What a day, I take it all back.
Suds and dog in hand I leaned up against the bar. While not 6 feet in front of me a well seasoned rock n’ roll man with faded tattoo sleeves and heavy leather bracelets picked out a country tune under a perfectly pruned pompadour.
I asked Uncle Bob.
Dale Watson. A true country musician who doesn’t realize how famous he is or at least should be. I closed my eyes. Nice.
My free food, cheap beer, steel guitar drenched unreal golden glow could only be eclipsed by the surreal. Which tonight took the form of the large wire cage on top of a table in the middle of the bar that we passed on the way in. Chicken wire stapled onto the 2×4 frame enclosed a bingo type grid on the worn plywood cage floor. But why was it empty? Why all the lights? Why all this effort? I wanted to ask but didn’t want to appear stupid. The focus of the bar was around this set up and obviously the reason for coming here.
I spent the next half hour eavesdropping and pieced together the gist of what to expect. For a dollar you can buy one or more squares in the cage you were then given a piece of paper with your square’s number on it. After all the squares are bought then a live chicken is put inside this cage. She walks around until she relieves herself at random. Whichever of the numbers her leavings happen to fall on is deemed the winning square. The pool of money goes to whoever bought that square at the beginning of the round.
Wow.
We waited for the first round to begin as more and more people packed into this little bar to come play Chickenshit bingo. Ah ha! Here is how they are able to give away free food, look at all these thirsty gamblers. I realized there were far fewer numbers than people in the bar and had better get on it. Grinning like only an idiot does when he thinks he’s REALLY clever I went to the bar to buy my number.
Number 2’s taken.
Shit.
OK well what have you got?
17 n’ up.
Once all the numbers were purchased the chicken was brought out from a back room. As soon as her feet hit the floor the entire bar erupted into a frenzy of attempts to get the chicken’s attention and somehow convince her to move to their square. People placed their pieces of paper up against the walls to show the chicken what number they had bought and that if she could kindly move towards that square before relieving herself it would be most appreciated. Which was delivered at full volume to the tune of, “SHIT OER HERE YUH STOOPID CLUCK! Those signs at the aquarium which ask you kindly not to tap on the glass would have gone to good use here. Most likely being torn from the wall, rolled up and rammed through the gaps in the cage to corral the bird. Since there was no such sign to make use of a couple pool queues would have to do.
While these chaotic attempts to sway the game in their favor ensued I was amazed that no one was trying to stop each other from cheating. Maybe everyone was basking in the glow of free food cheap beer and the strong possibility of striking it rich? I shrugged, clearly they were not bothered.
The only one I that I could imagine not enjoying themselves was the chicken. After being dropped in the this cage a stream of incoherent noise and objects were forced upon her from the surrounding darkness and didn’t stop until she had the shit scared out of her. I was pretty sure that I was the only one in the bar thinking this. In their eyes this was not even on the same planet as animal cruelty. Any outsider who saw this as inhumane was clearly confusing animal cruelty with a cultural gap. Maybe they were onto something.
Is this chicken’s life really all that bad? She got the spot light every night, all the feed she wants and all she has to do is take a dump and everyone cheers. Actually sounds like a pretty interesting life. I’d like to try it out for at least one day before condemning it.
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