A random passerby at Perkins.

So there was a man outside of Perkins the other day in Woodbury. On a sunny Monday, I was eating lunch with two very good friends (while waiting for my bleu cheese side salad; which Perkins believes should be "separate" from the gourmet Chicken Ranch Wrap and fries--aTRUE SIDE salad i guess) when there appeared a man who we will call "Barry." No, it wasn't Barry Williams from the Brady Bunch; I am quite sure that he works with the Applebees franchise. I'm pretty sure in menu design too. And even if it was Barry Willilams, I would have used a more ambiguous surname than Barry, (maybe Johnny Bravo).

At any rate, Barry was outside picking up trash around the building when I noticed him wording some phrase to someone. Probably one of his buddies helping pick up the paper cups and abused condoms that have found their way onto the Perkins premise. As the seconds ticked by and no one but Barry was present, I was beginning to think that maybe Barry was talking on his bluetooth, you know, that annoying little device that people put in their ears when they need TWO hands to talk to you on their cell phone.

Well, as it turns out, when Barry turned his head to reveal the rest of his head, sans earpiece, I realized that he either had an imaginary friend, or was one of millions of people in this country with a mental illness. Much like the brown carpet in my apartment, when one encounters someone with a mental illness, there always seems to be things far beneath the surface that one can't see with a quick glance. Does he have a home? Does he have a pet? Does he actually work for Perkins?

I hope no one gives him a hard time for something that may be out of his control. I hope he gets to have lunch with his best friends on Labor Day too sometime. But then again, maybe he makes reservations for 3 for a party of 1. I wondered these things as I left the parking lot, sans trash.