Life at the Smelly Deli (Who wins)
I was 15 years old, had my learner’s permit to drive and my best friend George’s older brother had opened up a restaurant in a nearby town and needed some good help. This was my first go around working with friends and friend’s families. I was asked to come to work and learn the wonderful trade of washing dishes. I took to this like I did my paper routes and soon I was moved up to busboy status. Eventually I worked my way up to host and prep cook. The experience at the Smelly Deli was awesome. I met and worked with many kids my own age and developed lifelong friendships with a few of them. I would not change this experience for the world. However, I was under the tutelage of the biggest tool I have ever had the pleasure of working with.
Mark was an over-achieving sloth to give you a good mental picture of this guy. He stood about 6’3 and weighed all of 280 pounds. He never met a meal that he would not eat, or give you the history of it’s preparation. He was a chain smoking Marlboro man that was prematurely going bald. He had an over-sized melon of a head and an all-pro spitting gap in his front teeth. His mustache would make prepubescent boys look like they were cavemen, think of the cheesiest thin mustache you can imagine and this was worse. He also had a habit of drooling excessively while he slept. I have seen camels that spew less saliva than this man child would generate, all the while snoring like a freight train. I know this, because I spent many nights at his house with his brother and I always got offered his bed to sleep in, since he was passed out on the beanbag chairs in the family room. All this and he was only 23 years old!
He must have had a bunch of bad experiences in school, because he treated his employees like his personal slaves. Think power monger. He actually had the busboys cleaning and waxing his car. There was no work that would be too demeaning for an employee, as long as he was paying them. Unfortunately for many people, he got into the shorts of a very wealthy Detroit businessman and ended up with an umbilical cord to the old man’s wallet. He ended up opening (and closing) many restaurants in the Detroit area. He was a successful businessman for many years, but eventually his arrogance brought him down. That and the fact that he had a very hard time paying his bills.
Mark liked to show off his new-found wealth by racing his Trans AM, and later his sweet electric blue Z-28, around the neighborhood. He really impressed all of us kids by these acts of male dominance. He also liked to tell people that he was a chef, because he spent a couple of months at the Culinary Institute of America. No, he did not graduate, but to hear him tell it, he was at the top of his class when he left. Yes, there were some extenuating circumstances around his leaving, mainly family obligations that he needed to tend to. However, for many years after that, and even to this very day, he always wore chef’s clothes everywhere. I mean everywhere. He would show up for family functions in his chef clothes, he would wear them to meetings and he would wear them out for the night. Everywhere! I saw him not wearing chef’s clothes twice. The first time was at his wedding and the next time was at George’s second wedding. Talk about getting into a role! At least they finally came up with other chef’s togs in the 1990’s and he could wear his new denim look. Fabulous!
He ended up dating, and eventually marrying, one of the hostesses from the Smelly Deli. I could write a book about her, but I won’t. Lucy was an adopted girl, raised Jewish, and boy was she wild. Think hooker only with more makeup. 5’3, huge breasts, a little overweight and “Oy” she was extremely annoying with that high-pitched whiny voice. She thought she was a lot hotter than she really was. However, her later attempts at age reduction, “Joan Rivers-esque”, made her even less attractive. It was like her squared-off face melted into her over-sized breasts that all came to rest, past her tucked belly, onto her plump ass.
Back then, she “dated” everyone from the Smelly Deli. She had a special thing for the black male employees, but that would turn this book into a racy soap opera. She even dated Mark’s brother Gary for a while. It would seem that the only thing looser than her was the back door to the alley. But to the doors credit, it got banged hard about 50 times a day. Anyway, Mark fell madly in love with Lucy, since she was probably the first action that he had since Rosie Palmer. The dating phase of their relationship was awesome.
Mark would take Lucy out on Saturday nights and leave the crew there to close up. We were all great friends and used to hang out and party after work. Well, when Mark and Lucy would leave, the Smelly Deli would become our personal home away from home. We kept the liquor chilling in the walk-in and Jerry and Madeline would have their personal stashes of pot to share with the crew. By 10:00 pm the Smelly was rocking. However, Mark wanted to impress Lucy with his authoritarian power and try to sneak back to the Smelly after hours and catch us. It is probably a good thing that Lucy was still enjoying the men of color (think alley door) and she did not want them to get caught partying in Mark’s place of business, or he would fire her salami injectors. So, when she was out with Mark, she would excuse herself to go to the ladies room. While there, she would find a pay phone and call the crew back at the Smelly Deli and tell them that Mark and she would be back there in a certain period of time. Mark only caught us once. Poor Mark.
Back to the Z-28. Mark loved this car. It was fast, it looked sweet and it made his male ego puffy. Since he started to date Lucy, she was allowed to drive the testosterone-mobile. She would actually use this car to go hang out with her other male friends. One afternoon, Lucy decided it was quallude time. Oh, I forgot to mention that her nickname was Elvis. She had more pills than the King of Rock and Roll! Whilst driving under the influence of these lovely sedatives, she ran the Z into a highway concrete median. Bye Bye Z. The best part about this was that she was not injured, much. A few bumps and bruises and maybe a cut or two. It was nothing that she could not self-medicate for. He ended up getting an even sweeter car for them to drive, a Corvette, and then asked her to marry him. Oh, can you feel the love?
Since I was almost part of the family, I got to attend the wedding as a guest. There were probably 300-400 people at this event and we got to set the whole thing up. Mark was such an animal about his work that he kept going back into the kitchen and riding the staff like a bunch of rented mules. Good thing that Jerry and Madeline had their secret stash with them. I guess it made the night bearable for the crew. The preparation of the festivities took it out of the crew and I was so happy that Mark wanted me to bail on the reception. After dinner was served, I got to help the crew get the dishes washed and packed up to take back to the restaurant. Yes, this moron catered his own wedding to save money and make sure it was perfect. I have another story about the accident with the van in the parking lot, but it will wait for a later date. I still don’t think that Mark realizes that he actually got married. I am pretty sure his new wife forgot about it very soon after the nuptials, right Stevie?
I ended up working until 3:00 am with the crew and we successfully got all of the catering accessories back to the Smelly Deli. We had two vans, one slightly more damaged than the day before, which were packed to the ceilings with “rinsed off” dishes, etc. That day (Sunday), the restaurant was closed, but there were 5 of us there washing all of the pots and pans, dishes, silverware, etc. from the night before. Then we had to Saran-wrap them, stack them in milk crates and store them in the warehouse behind the restaurant. We actually got paid to do this, but Mark told us it was at a lower rate, since we did not have to do it during “work” hours and he was giving us cash. What a sweetheart. It must have been because he finally got laid on his wedding night.
I have another story that is burnt into my memory about Mark. It just proves out my theory that there are tools for every job. About a year after I began my career as a ceramic platter cleanser, this opportunity presented itself. I must preface this story by saying that I am a smartass. I come from a long line of smartasses. My dad is the smartass king. My children are smartasses. My 6 brothers and 4 sisters are smartasses. We try to out smart-ass each other at every family get together. For us, it is sport. Mark is not a smartass. He never did know how to deal with my humor and smart-ass mouth, he probably still couldn’t.
Mark always told the staff that we had to eat our meals at the back three tables of the restaurant. This was to keep the paid help, who smelled like deli food, away from the nice smelling customers. If you have ever eaten in a deli on the weekend nights with the older blue-haired Jewish ladies, I am guessing that that perfume overdose is seared into your brain as well. There is absolutely no way that body odor mixed with corned beef, salami and gefilte fish could over power the perfume. Well, one night, right before closing, one of our best customers came into the restaurant. The crew hated people that came in 15 minutes before closing and wanted to sit there and eat, smoke cigars and bullshit the night away. This guy was notorious for doing just that. He would look at us vacuuming the floor, mopping, wiping down tables and have the balls to ask us if we were in a hurry to get home. We would just smile and mentally flip him off and kick his old parchment thin ass.
His name was Nicky Stores. He owned a chain of stereo shops in the area and was a former disc jockey at a local radio station. Nicky had a very distinct voice that kids loved to imitate. Well, I was eating my dinner at the rear table and I could not resist imitating Nicky. I blurted out the tag line for his commercial that was airing on local TV and radio stations. In my deepest voice I let out a big “It’s Niccckkkkyyyy!” I think I may have been a little too loud, because my friend Bobby, who was on the line at the front of the restaurant, 40 feet away, cleaning the slicer up for the night. He heard me as clearly as a church bell on Sunday and started chuckling. Well Mark did not find this amusing and told me that I could no longer eat in the front of the house and that I had to eat in the back. Now I know what slavery was all about.
Being a smartass, I could not let this opportunity pass without taking advantage of it. So, the next evening, a fine Sunday night during the middle of the summer months, I took my bosses words to heart. I went into the warehouse and took out a table. I set the table with the finest linens and all of the finest silverware and China I could find. I even put a flower vase on the table. I put two chairs there and summoned my good friend Robert to cook me and him our employee meals. We took our break and went out into the alley, where we dined in the manner we deserved. Mark came outside to have a smoke and nearly blew a gasket when he saw the spread we had prepared for ourselves, not to mention the fact that we were dining between the dumpster and the warehouse, in the middle of the alley. Just think what his patrons would say if they saw us eating out there! Bobby and I still laugh whenever we talk about that one.
I think the anvil that broke Mark’s back was the day I wore my new shirt to work. He had been treating all of the crew rather poorly and I decided it was time to spruce up the old wardrobe. Now our uniform was supposed to consist of black pants, white shirts, a white apron and clean shoes. Well this was back in the day when ¾ length jerseys were all the rage. Most kids would get the customized with their favorite bands, radio stations, pot selections, beer choices or sayings on them. We could wear these under our white short-sleeved shirts. Well I got a brand new jersey that had black sleeves on it, so I could wear it under my uniform white shirt. Unfortunately for Mark, I happened to get the phrase “MARK SUCKS” screened onto the back of the shirt in huge lettering. Think Bill-board.
That night, I wore my new uniform to work. I happened to be bussing tables that night and most of my friends were dying laughing every time they passed me. I worked extremely hard that night, keeping tables cleaned and the dishwasher busy. There were two bus tubs up near the cooking line where Mark was playing Chef. He ignored the paid help as much as possible and it was killing me that he had not noticed the shirt. Finally, about an hour and a half into my shift, the fire alarm went off. Mark had seen my new wardrobe and for some reason he was not very pleased with my selection. My boys were on the ground rolling. They could not believe that he did not can me right then and there. Well, sometimes hard work does pay off. I was good at what I did, as were the entire group that worked there. He had the best crew in town and he knew it. My punishment was that he told me to go home and change. Little did he know that I hopped in the car, drove around the block and sat there enjoying a long break. I had brought an extra shirt to work, just in case. I am laughing as I write this. I cannot imagine a kid doing this anymore. Talk about creativity.
I could go on for hours about all of the stories I have about this putz, but I do not want to waste the space. Besides, he shows up later too. Let me tell you, I have a handful of friends from my Smelly Deli days, and it has been 30 years since I worked (and played) there. We still talk frequently and often have a great chuckle about Mark and his escapades around Detroit. We even laugh harder about Lucy’s!
The end of an era at the Smelly Deli began In April of 1982. The Who announced the first “Final Tour” dates. My friends and I are ardent Who fanatics and this was definitely on the Fall agenda. The show was scheduled for September 30th at the Pontiac Silverdome. We got main floor seats and asked for the day off right after we scored these tickets. The day before the concert, Mark tells me and George that we had to work the next day. George and I were the first ones to write up our requests for that particular day off, months prior to the event. Mark said that this was too bad for us and we had to work. His exact words were, “You need to make a decision, your concert or your job.” My reply was very simple. “Pete Townshend plays a much better guitar than you. Later asshole.”
And so my brief yet story-packed career at the Smelly Deli was done. I still get a craving for a lean 17 ½ every month or so. My brother Joe and I, along with a great friend RJ (Bobby to us) King head to the old neighborhood and get a bowl of Matzo ball or Kreplock soup and a towering sandwich. Then we bust out the old stories and laugh our fool heads off. That stuff never gets old and never let’s you down. Kind of like The Who.
