Dinner for schmucks

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First Posted: 10/22/2014

I’m passive-aggressive but I have a lot of Facebook friends, so I must be doing something right. One of those Facebook friends is Rafiki. Rafiki takes Adderall to keep a slim figure. His name isn’t really Rafiki, but he really is on Adderall (and various porn sites masturbating for money to afford nice things).

About 15 Facebook statuses ago, I went to Rafiki’s apartment to meet him and go to hot yoga class together. When I parked in his driveway, I noticed his car was jam-packed with clothes and suitcases.

“Where are you going?” I asked when I entered his back door. (Yeah, I just realized how that sounded, too.)

“You mean all the clothes in my car? I thought I was going to fail my piss test at work, so I took all of my clothes with me in case I had to go on the run,” Rafiki said.

Apparently, he avoided his required urine sample at work proving he likes to smoke marijuana by telling his boss that he had to go to the doctor. Rafiki then checked himself into a mental health facility to avoid peeing in a cup.

“That’s why you haven’t heard from me for the last week,” Rafiki said after informing me that he just checked out of a mental hospital.

With some time to spare before hot yoga and plenty of intrigue to hear the full story of Rafiki’s ridiculous adventure, I demanded we go in his room, sit on his bed and that he tell me everything I wanted to hear. (Yeah, I just realized how that sounded, too.) As we were walking to his room, Rafiki told me that his friend Judie was there visiting.

“Is she your friend from home?” I asked, since Rafiki is originally from Boston.

“No, actually I just met her in the mental hospital last week. She needed a place to stay,” Rafiki said.

“You brought home a souveneir?” I asked, dumbfounded that this was real life.

In Rafiki’s room, I tried to get to know a little more about Judie.

“So, what’s your story?” I asked.

“I’m bipolar,” Judie replied.

I was expecting a little backstory on the girl, like where she was from. I wasn’t expecting her diagnosis.

Judie followed with a story about living in Italy as an au pair a few years ago when she experienced her first bipolar episode. Just when it was time to leave, I started wondering if she framed Amanda Knox for murder.

On our way to hot yoga, Rafiki said he needed to stop at the grocery store quickly for water, where he asked if I wanted to have dinner with him and Judie.

“I’ll pay for whatever you want if you cook it,” Rafiki said.

Not one to turn down free food, I said yes. Of course, since it was free, I picked out a complete five-course meal. By the time we checked out, we had missed hot yoga.

Sorry, Mom and Dad, that I missed doing a questionably healthy activity to make dinner for two people who just got out of a mental hospital. Some people might think that makes me a little crazy. Truth is, everybody is a little crazy. The secret consists of finding the right pavilion. For George W. Bush, it was inside the oval office. For comedians, it might be on stage. For me, it was over dinner with schmucks.