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Mr Price - Part 1

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A fictional short story written by David Lloyd, all about a frequent member of a Welsh Bingo Hall.

Mr Price - A Short Story By David Lloyd - Part 1

So far the night had been quiet. Sian had only sold ten of her late session bingo books in her first hour of work, and wasn't likely to sell many for a while. She had started her new job as a bingo operative a fortnight earlier. As she was the new girl she had to sell the easy books on her own separate counter, away from the other staff. She was not bothered though, on the late session book's counter she could talk to the customers, watch them playing the board bingo and, more importantly, she could day dream.

The main book sales point was at the entrance to the large double layered old hall, whilst her counter was in the middle, under the stair case that led up to the high ceilinged, sloping balcony. She rested her upper half in a lazy position on the top of the counter, arms crossed, chin slumped, backside in the air. She looked towards the entrance of the hall, deep in thought but checking to see if anymore customers had arrived.

At the main counter they were enjoying the luxury of a slack moment. The four staff laughed and joked in their bright yellow and blue striped uniforms, flicking elastic bands and paper clips at each other. They were in their own world, oblivious to her. She knew them to speak too, but away from them she might as well be dead. She sighed, in her head The Doors' lyrics floated about, she sang to herself, 'out here on the perimeter there are no stars'. The tune was interrupted by a niggling itch on her leg. She scowled and scratched at the hem of her skirt, cursing the cheap nylon that went into the sweaty day-glo uniforms.

She was feeling home sick. She had moved to Cardiff only two months earlier, to study Welsh history at the University. Sian was lucky, many of her friends back home in Neath were either expecting, unemployed, Y.T.S. (unemployed) or in jail. She knew she was lucky to have this chance, to be able to make something of her life free from the crushing pressures of peers and family. But for all that, she couldn't help missing it all, even though it was less than an hours drive away. After moving, her first term's grant disappeared very quickly in the race for new friends and experiences.

The job had been a Godsend, three nights a week after collage, and enough money to go out with her friends and enjoy the heady night life of Cardiff's club land. She was lucky, not many people from her deprived background made it this far in the education game, she knew that, but still she couldn't stop herself wishing that she was back home.

The hall was slowly starting to fill, but only a few people would buy her books, most waiting until the main session had been played. Across the narrow aisle from her counter were rows of tables, filling up with the old couples whom she was now starting to recognise. A few of them had started to recognise her, and they would chat and ask after her when she was not busy. At the far end of the hall was the stage, with lighted displays glowing in rows of numbers and pound signs, denoting the big prizes which were available. Below the high stage and its neon displays was the bar and buffet, both as quiet as her counter. She studied the barmaid who was slumped on the bar, in much the same languid manner that she herself was. Sian giggled to herself, thinking that the barmaid was probably dreaming of the hours after work when she would be knocking the pints back, instead of pulling them. In those quiet moments Sian had felt a great lethargy fall upon herself, the fuggy warm atmosphere of the club was soporific, when the work became busy it was a great effort to shift gear after such a long relax.

She dreamed of winning the big National Prize money that was on offer, but she had never been lucky like that, she tried to stop herself, it was not good for a poor student's soul. There was no point in filling herself with false hopes, but it was nice to dream. She hoped that she would be able to make lots of money after college, and then maybe things would not be so hard. History had seemed a strange choice to her parents, but it seemed quite natural to herself. Her lively imagination had always been fuelled by both fictional and factual Welsh history, King Arthur, 'The Mabinogion', Owain Glyndwr, and the steel and coal booms of earlier centuries.

She liked the area that she had moved too, it was full of history, and the bingo hall was a little part of that, with its own long history. It was over a hundred years old and had lived through many guises, a ballroom, a roller rink, a cinema; for the last thirty two years it had been a bingo hall, the building having been extended and reopened in 1963. She found it interesting in its grandeur, her imagination inspired by its beauty.

It seemed very out of place with its modernised surroundings along the main road which it lay on. The hall rose above the terraced shops which it lay amongst, creating a strong contrast in both colour and height. Its candyfloss pink and electric mint facade stuck out like a beacon among the greying shop fronts. At night its warm and enticing interior glowed out onto the pavement with a comfortable opulence. Its entrance was twin towered and domed, which gave the impression of cheeks, the long row of doors between the towers forming a friendly and welcoming smile. It had made her feel good as she approached the building for her interview, she was much struck by its mish-mash of art nouveau and Arabic architectural styles.

Continue to Part 2 of Mr Price >>

Mr Price - Part 1

Mr Price - A Short Story By David Lloyd - Part 1

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