Dirty Bingo
North Third
801 N 3rd St
Philadelphia
June 18, 2026
Every third Thursday, the bar North Third on the corner of Brown Street holds a bingo night in their back room. At a dollar a card and a minimum buy-in of five, you don’t have to pay a lot of money to get through the night’s four rounds. On a slow one, like last night, this raises your chance of winning a prize significantly. Not to mention, there are two winners per round. The bingo at North Third is a little different than most places though. Last night was Dirty Bingo, and at Dirty Bingo, the rounds and prizes are sexy-themed, and things will probably get rowdy.
Bingo is truly an ideal game because it requires no skill. You simply try to guide chance and fortune’s favor toward you while letting the evening take its natural course. I had spent the day locked in on music, and when I finally got the chance to relax with friends, it felt good to know that all I was doing at the end of the day was pressing a marker against some paper and hoping for the best. But if you think I wasn’t there to win you absolutely got the wrong fuckin’ one. I’m Cynthia Jean’s grandson and I was going to win some damn bingo, even if I didn't care about the prizes.
The first round, “Missionary,” was won just by marking a single row. As the night progressed, the prizes would get bigger and bigger (and bigger), which let me know that slowly spreading (the number of cards) was the way. I remained patient. I dotted where I could, eased back when I had nothing. I nourished myself with buffalo cauliflower and buttery garlic broccoli. I knew it wasn’t just going to happen for me right off the bat. It was a dance, and I had to guide the game into my palm.
“Bingo!”
Shit. It was my friend, sitting directly next to me. Then again, not four seconds later: “Bingo!”
Just like that, the round was over. The prize my friend won, a playfully fuzzy light bondage set, became the table’s new centerpiece. Well, until the wings came, but that was a little later on. Round two was “Top or Bottom,” meaning you needed a row going across on the highest or lowest parts of the card. I only used one card for this and immediately saw the error of my ways. The wait for a number in the spot I needed was arduous. And then, bingo was called twice more, neither time by me. A salt-and-pepper haired man who had called it in the first round was again at the podium. It was alright — some people get lucky. The second time it was called by someone else in my group. She came away from the prize station with a new vibrator, and I counted it as a victory for the team.
Round three, you needed to make an X to win. The round was called “Scissoring.” I started to feel some heat now. I wanted to win. I needed to win. I wasn’t about to be the only person at my table without a prize; its utility in my life was an afterthought. Halfway through the round, and my X was forming swimmingly. I just needed like two more spots. “Bingo!” Fuck! A number of people were really close, not just me. Heads swiveled to see who the caller was. It was the salt-and-pepper haired man. I know you was fuckin’ lying. Three in a row? How was he even going to carry all of this shit out the bar? A woman next to me said, “The next time he wins, I’m gonna trip him on the way up.” I suggested we jump him. The game was not bringing out the best in me.
I exhaled a sigh as he picked prizes yet again, and I locked in. I was exerting a significant amount of will toward manifestation at this point. I just needed two more spots. The wheel was turned. A ball came out; it wasn't the one I needed, but it was alright because it wasn't the one a lot of us needed. The wheel was turned again. Another ball came out, and it was the one I needed. “Alright now, let’s get it in,” I said. Heads swiveled in my direction. I realized, in the dim light of the following morning, that it probably came out as “ALRIGHLESSGEDDIDIN GODDAMIT,” but I feel no guilt. I just needed B13. Surely that couldn't be too much to ask. It’s not like it was something that was clearly impossible, like a ceasefire. Everyone at my table was sneaking furtive glances at my card. They could see that I was on glory’s precipice. The wheel was turned. Another ball no one needed. It couldn't be too long now; I knew my destiny. The wheel was turned. B13. I had it. I had fulfilled the prophecy. B13 was immediately canonized as a symbol of perseverance inside me. I’d won.
I stood, making my way to the prize station, envious stares ricocheting off of me like bullets. I felt no pain. My card was verified, and I was presented my prize. I will not divulge what it is here, but it will be used. What was that Maroon 5 song? "She Will Be Loved." I waved to the rest of the bar patrons as I held my prize high and basked in the warmth of victory for a few moments longer before I took my seat.
The final round was known as “Orgy,” meaning that every space on the card needed to be filled. Personally, I think a more accurate name for this final round would be “Creampie,” but I’m not the host. This was a long haul that would require two cards, although I was less concerned with victory at this point. Some of us are content to only win once. One person at our table, though, had still yet to win. I wanted her to also see victory, because I believe in justice. This round, naturally, was also quite long. I was letting my mind wander as the round meandered toward its natural end before I heard a shout of “Bingo!” next to me. It was none other than my friend and fellow Midbrow writer Soleil Summer, the last of us to win a prize. We’d done it. Each person in my group won a round. Salt-and-pepper man might have had the most wins, but we got the team victory. What is good fortune if you have no one to share it with? After she claimed the smaller grand prize, a free six pack from Love City Brewing, there was still one more game to be won. Three of us had cards that were filling up fast. One of us could still win the big one.
Spoiler: we didn’t win the grand prize, but neither did salt-and-pepper man. Three of the four of us did come very close, though. It turned out that we all needed the same number and letter, identifying the divinity of our union and collective struggle. I’d like to think that there is a parallel universe where we did win, and we shared the grand prize. Admittedly, we never actually found out what it was.
Thank you so much Soleil and Max for inviting me, because I never would have been here without you guys. We’ll always have O62.
