Dinner with friends

Once a week, I eat out with some friends, a couple I've known since college. This summer, we've been mostly eating at Chili's. And that's usually because we never plan ahead and Chili's is where we end up going, after a short session of: "Where do you want to go?" and "I don't know...", then "What do you feel like eating?" and "Whatever". And I usually end up suggesting Chili's. I like the food at Chili's. So Chili's it is.

But last week, the couple decided it was time for something different. I was curious if they'd join me and my other friends for happy hour or maybe karaoke. But no, they got as far as saying they'll pick the place to eat next time, and it won't be at Chili's.

Last night, I arrived at their house. We were going to carpool to dinner. I was still in my work clothes, which my friends had assured me were appropriate for the dinner setting. On the way, we made a quick stop at a bakery for pound cake. Dessert for later, I thought. Nice.

My friends were mum about where we were going to eat. And when we turned into a residential area, I wondered, 'Are we going to a party?' and got a little excited.

Soon we pulled up to a house with lots of cars parked in front and all up the side of the road. I asked, "Is this a house party"?

My friends looked at each other, then she said, "They'll be lots of people here. And the food is going to be delicious."

"Sweet!," I said. I followed my friends into the house. There were lots of people. They introduced me to some of them. A very serious, somber crowd, I thought. They seemed nice, though, if a little down for a party. But I smiled and shook hands. Maybe some good music and dancing ought to liven them up. I could smell the delicious food in the kitchen before I saw the wonderful spread on the table. Yum!

My friends quickly pulled me aside and said, "We just have to say a prayer before we can eat."

"Sure. No problem," I said. I grew up praying before eating, and I've been to events where people pray before the feast. I then noticed an elderly gentleman, with a rosary bead, holding a bible. He stood up and called everyone into the living room.

It got crowded. I noticed more people with rosaries. 'Huh. Interesting,' I thought.

Then the old man asked us to sit. My friends and I were squeezed into one end of a sectional. Other people sat down on the carpet. Then the elderly man spoke a few words. He spoke about someone as the reason we were gathered. The guest of honor, I thought. Then the old man said, "Let us pray for his soul," pulled out his rosary, and started praying.

And then it hit me. This wasn't a party. This was a funeral! A Catholic funeral! No, actually, this was a novena! The nine days of prayer, starting the day the deceased was buried! I looked at my friends incredulously! These bitches brought me to a funeral! For someone they knew but was a total stranger to me!

'What the f*ck?' is what I wanted to say to them, but it was neither the time nor the place. God was watching, especially now that we started praying! So instead, I joined in the rosary. And started praying like the good Catholic schoolboy I was in my younger days.

I figured, I've been to a novena before, so the rosary should take no more than twenty minutes. I can hang. But I was wrong. So very wrong! That was a Polish novena, short and sweet. This was a Latino novena, and they stretched out the rosary and prayers! When we prayed passed thirty minutes, I was like, What's going on? Why is the rosary taking so long?

At the one hour mark, I was tempted to get up and stretch. My butt had fallen asleep. I was inwardly cursing my friends for bringing me here, me for being stupid enough to carpool here because now I can't leave, and I chastised myself for losing focus on the prayers; it was disrespectful of me to be so selfish at a funeral. Someone died, for God's sake! Suck it up! You're still alive to complain!

At the hour and a half mark, I was praying fervently to the Virgin, sweet mother Mary, please deliver me from this place! They're still praying! And I'm not even Catholic. The numbness from my butt has moved down my thighs and legs. I fear I may never walk again! Please take me up to the heavens! Help me get out of here!

At this point, I briefly entertained the thought of asking for the ground to open up and swallow me. If getting out of here meant going through hell, so be it. Unless I was all ready in hell, because it was starting to feel like it. Especially with this endless cycle of repetitive praying and being trapped on an uncomfortable, crowded sofa with people sitting in front of me, boxing me in. If I stood up, everyone would notice! Now I prayed even harder to Mary for deliverance!

At the hour and forty five minutes mark, I began praying to the Buddha. Dear Buddha, I've never prayed to you before, and I'm not sure if I'm doing this right. But if you can, please get me out here!

At the two hour mark, it was finally over! Sweet Jesus, it was finally over! Thank you Buddha! I could finally stand! My legs hurt! But thank God (and Buddha!) that I could still walk, and that it was over! I didn't even care about the food anymore. At this point, it was a relief to just be able to move around freely after being confined to an uncomfortable, hard sofa for two long hours!

The atmosphere changed from somber to celebratory as the people started telling funny stories about the deceased. And while I didn't think I cared about the food anymore, I was ravenous after the marathon session of praying.

My friends looked sheepishly at me and said, "The food's great, right?"

And it was. Shrimp, meatballs, tuna casserole, and chicken Caesar salad were among the many delicious foods served. Plus the lemon glazed pound cake my friends had picked up at the bakery.

I said, "Oh, definitely!!! The food is awesome."

My friends smiled, "Glad you came?"

To which I replied, "Hell no! If I'd known where we were going tonight, I would not have come! Why did y'all bring me here? I don't know any of these people!"

My friend said, "They're from church. We just found out that the funeral was today. Since we couldn't leave work for the funeral, we thought it best to attend the first night of prayers. And we didn't want to miss out on our weekly dinner outing with you tonight. And besides, we knew there'd be good food here."

"So you thought you could kill two birds with one stone," I said, "Go to a funeral and have dinner with me at the same time?"

"Yup," my friend said, "At least it's a change from Chili's right?"

"It sure is!," I said, "At least at Chili's, I ain't got to pray for two hours before I can eat! That's the last time I let you all pick the place to eat! And that's the last time I carpool with ya'll! Next time, we take my car, so I can escape!"

Next week's dinner, I get to pick the place. And if they don't feel like Chili's, I'm taking them to my favorite Mexican restaurant: Taco Bell.