True Richmonder Bingo Card

by Fayeruz Regan 08.2025

Axios writer Sabrina Moreno posed this question online: “If you had a bingo card of what makes someone a Richmonder, what would you put on it?”

The responses made me feel seen. Some of my favorites included:

• “Getting your car towed by Sieberts.”

• “Watching the trains cross at triple crossing.”

• “Complaining about the heat at the Watermelon Festival.”

• “Asking yourself ‘Are those gunshots or fireworks?’”

• “Tripping on an unrepaired sidewalk”

This got my brain stirring, so I started my own bingo card. It’s a list for all of us! A true Richmonder will have experienced the following…

A slow and creeping devotion to Duke’s mayonnaise. Eventually, you’ll never buy another jar of Hellman’s or Miracle Whip again.

Poop jokes about the James, and having friends gently turn down the fried catfish you caught in the river until it sinks in that you may or may not be playing Russian roulette with E. coli.

Waxing nostalgic about Ukrops, or at least witnessing locals that still do.

Hitting a pothole so hard you were sure you popped a tire.

Returning to said pothole and filling it with random objects in protest. Turning potholes into ball pits is truly hilarious protest art. In case any parents are wondering what they should do with those dented, germ-encrusted globes, I say we make it a thing.

Feeling a pang of heartbreak when you find out, yet again, Trader Joe’s has passed on opening a store in the city.

Compounding said heartbreak with self-loathing as you drive to Short Pump to get to Trader Joe’s. Because how else will you get that one special item that you keep harping on about to your friends, only to find they never try it? Mine was the chimichurri rice, and they had the audacity to discontinue it.

Wondering if the Avail vape company was using the logo from the Richmond band with the same name.

Being assured that it is not, but vowing to never believe it.

Having a favorite Fan brunch spot with tin ceiling tiles, wooden booths, and the stale smell of beer from the night before.

Gwar is our seven degrees of Kevin Bacon. You have either met a band member, or one of their friends, kids, or spouses. Or you’ve been to a show, or regretted never having gone to a show. I fall under the latter category. Who wouldn’t want to put on an old T-shirt and get drenched with fake blood and other bodily fluids at a theatrical rock and roll show? Who’s in?

Being oft-reminded by Forest Hill residents that their enclave is part of Richmond City, and not Chesterfield County, thankyouverymuch. The pride is strong with this crowd, but for good reason.

The magical feeling of the Nickel Bridge as you cross to and from Forest Hill.

Knowing the answer to why Scuffletown Park and The Devil’s Triangle got the coolest names in the city.

Going to Texas Beach, which is neither Texas nor a beach, and drinking a local beer.

You know how to pronounce Powhite. Or you think you do, enough to school others on the subject. The irony here? Most locals pronounce it the wrong way. The correct pronunciation is “Pow-Hite.” But it’s okay – you start the word “Powhatan” with that same pronunciation, and you didn’t die from it.

Knowing the difference between a winter-grown hot house tomato, and a summertime Hanover tomato.

You no longer raise an eyebrow when being served a dish of white sauce at a Mexican restaurant. You know it’s not culturally accurate, but gave up the fight. They gave you regular salsa too, and it’s not like you’ve never been to Taco Bell.

You still call the Altria Theater “The Mosque.”

You had a chance to pet Francine, the local cat at Lowe’s on Broad. Or, like me, you let an amused employee know there was a stray cat in the outdoor furniture department.

You saw the Legendary Santa and Miller & Rhodes, or one of your elders did.

You have memorized the glorious, 80s era PSA that played at the Byrd Theatre before every movie, which covered the horrors of littering, and speaking during a film. And of course, you’ve seen the Mighty Wurlitzer organ performance before a weekend show, cheering with the others as the organist descends back into the stage, disco lights a-spinning.

Tattoos.