Twenty minutes south of the Strip, there’s a fusty old building along a gravel-lined stretch of freeway, with gold-tinted windows and a glitchy LED sign advertising a $25 prime rib special. On Google Maps, it’s called the South Point Hotel, but the L.A. weekenders mostly see it as a subtler version of the “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign, with a Walmart-sized parking lot and the utilitarian feel of an enormous Olive Garden at a suburban shopping center. It’s a little too far from the flashy neon buzz of Sin City proper, meaning it’s a quieter property, frequented by locals. They’re the weekday commuters playing a few $5 hands on their way home, elderly patrons sitting for hours in front of rickety slot machines from the ‘90s and, much to my 30-something horror, a handful of baby-faced kids in their early to mid-twenties headed towards the bingo hall on the second floor. Out of morbid curiosity, I throw down $40 to join the 1 p.m. session in a massive carpeted ballroom, which seems sparse until I remember the room’s meant to fit almost 650 people. Besides, the bingo manager later tells me, it’s the late-night sessions that get really slammed. Except now, it’s by tipsy youngsters.

Now, it may be bingo’s turn, according to recent surveys conducted by casinos and gambling publications, as younger generations start to show interest in a game previously dominated by church-going ladies. Back in 2022, a Milwaukee casino was already reporting that 59% of their bingo players were millennials, while a bingo hall franchise based in England recently claimed that half of new players are under 35. It’s evidence of a growing desire for genuine in-person interactions and more young adults experimenting with sobriety, which is reflected in a recent survey by Vegas Slots Online that said 25% of young Brits have little interest in activities that involve alcohol.

Over the past few years, young people have been embracing their more introverted tendencies, with millennials becoming “a generation of homebodies” and Gen Z experiencing a post-pandemic “loneliness epidemic” after experiencing what Dr. Rosanna Breaux, an assistant professor of psychology and director of the Child Study Center at Virginia Tech, called a “lack of opportunity to practice social interaction [and] social communication.”

As a result, young people place more importance on in-person interactions and authentic encounters, with one report stating that 66% of Gen Z prefer to socialize at home than meet up with friends at a bar. This might also explain rising interest in low-tech social events traditionally associated with the AARP crowd, judging by the growing number of millennial and Gen Z-organized mahjong nights and chess social clubs.

Instead, they are becoming increasingly partial to “live entertainment” over “boring” nightclubs, which have already begun to close en masse, replaced by bingo-themed clubs like London’s Hijingo and Dabbers Social Bingo. Bingo nights have even become commonplace at pubs and bars, with a quarter of respondents specifically saying they prefer to play bingo while socializing with friends. And with confetti-covered “bingo raves” like Bingo Loco now popping up stateside in cities like New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia, more and more people are getting familiar with the sound of bingo balls rattling against a hand-cranked metal cage and straining to hear calls over the sound of big-tent brostep.

So, with three hours to kill until my partner arrived, why not see if bingo is really all it’s cracked up to be? Will it be entertaining enough to keep me away from drunkenly splitting a pair of threes at the behest of a forgettable-looking guy who works in natural gas? Or would I have to resort to watching Despicable Me 4 in the theater next door? In my mind, it didn’t really matter, seeing as how it still wasn’t clicking that bingo could be “gambling.” All it was a low-stakes way to pass the time while hiding from the triple-digit heat wave outside.

Meanwhile, it’s deathly quiet inside the bingo hall, to the point where I feel pressured to whisper to the lady working the counter. Much to my surprise, she makes it abundantly clear that this isn’t just regular five-in-a-row bingo. Rather, there are overalls, weird shapes, big jackpots, combination packs with different rules, and so many extras and add-ons that it makes my wet brain spiral. I ask if she could pick something for me, and she gestures towards a charging wall of electronic tablets, which can apparently handle 100 cards at a time.

“It’ll dramatically increase the chance of a win,” she explains, adding that everyone in the room is using one. She also offers up a special $5 add-on card for their special “progressive double action jackpot” round, which will always have a winner. I tell her I’m not really sure what that is, but what I do know is that I came for a “classic bingo experience.” Simple and straightforward, like “those old-school booklets,” I say, pointing toward a bundle of thin newsprint paper. She seems unconvinced but just shrugs her shoulders, wishing me “good luck” and handing over a chunky blue dauber pen.

The smoking section is on the opposite side of the ballroom, and I pick a seat in the back near the caller, who’s sitting on an elevated podium resembling a judge’s bench. I quickly scan the room and realize the cashier was right about the tablets, though they seem to appeal more to the older folks in the room. The only people in the room daubing are younger: a girl in a baby pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, two friends with shopping bags from the outlets next door, a man in a puffer vest and bucket hat, and a reticent 26-year-old from Colorado named Emma, who later says she likes how “relaxing” it is.

I understand what she means. There’s a sense of satisfaction when I stamp my sheet, a gentle popping sound that comes from the high-tech machine spitting out the next number, and the calming feedback of the caller’s microphone. I like it here inside the South Point bingo hall, removed from the chaos of the casino floor and the tourists wandering the Strip.

The caller has such a soothing, ASMR-ready voice that it takes me a second to realize she’s already announced 10 numbers — B9, N41, N44, G50, B3, O75, G47, I20, I22, N34 — and I have to frantically try and catch up. I’m daubing as fast as I can, when a nice lady with a cart rolls by and pleasantly asks if I want a drink. She takes me by surprise and, somehow, I accidentally drop my marker and leave a bright blue smear on the table.

I apologize profusely and try to clean up the stain, missing the next several calls in the process. Thankfully, the tables are faux marble, and so it’s easy to wipe off the marker with a few sweeps of my arm, but the damage is done. The lady is not so nice anymore, visibly annoyed as she puts a watery tequila soda in front of my half-filled sheet. Across the room, a sunburnt man who looks like Jimmy Buffet raises his fist and stands up. His voice buzzes with excitement as he practically screams “BINGO!” Turns out, he won the five-figure “progressive double action jackpot” add-on sheet that I said wasn’t worth the extra $5. It’s cool, though. I’ll get my second chance at the 3 p.m.