The Deli-Blog #2 (Maryjane's Closet)

     Everything in my gut tells me to tell the deli story in chronological order. That's just the way I am. I don't like to start a new project until I'm finished with the first project and so on. But in the case of The Deli Blog, I think I'll break out with random, true stories of our life as restaurant operators in Snyder, Texas.
     This is the story of "Maryjane's Closet." In case you don't know, "Maryjane" is code for marijuana. And in this case, it's all about smoking dope inside the deli. A subtitle to this post could be: "Good help is hard to find," "Can't fix stupid" or "Are you just an idiot"?

      Before I write anymore, let me say that I'm not going to use too many real names when I convey the deli stories. For one, I fear I might get sued after I release the moronic things that happened at 1804 26th street. For another, we genuinely hope all these young people who committed so many ridiculous infractions have grown up, matured and changed their ways.
   
      There was a time at the deli when we were open 11am-11pm, six days a week. Teresa and I thought we could work till about 5:00ish and then leave the deli in capable hands for the evening shift. The key word in that previous sentence is "thought."

      Our night crew was mostly high schoolers and one adult named Kane, who was only working for us because he'd been fired by a big company for a DUI. He was and is a great guy, but made a big mistake. Turns out now, he's pushed the envelope and accomplished some really good things and has a very bright future. The kids were Jaden, Austin and a couple of others. I'm not sure if any of them have done anything of significance.

     I wrote earlier that T & I usually left around 5:00ish. Yes, we did. But, we never left one time. It always took two or three times to get out the door to actually fire up the truck and head west to our home. On this evening, I know I re-entered the deli at least three times. It was that third time with Teresa at my side that we both came across an old, but familiar smell.

     Our drill was, leave through the back room and back door, head straight to the truck and go. If we had to re-enter, we came back through the back door.
     On this evening, we came through the back door into our back room as we called it. We kept dry goods in this area: Chips, to-go stuff and etc. There's a door on the left that at the time led to an area used as storage. It was full to the brim. You could barely open the door. It didn't have electricity. So, there was no lighting. It was when we walked past this door that we both stopped.

       "What's that smell," I asked Teresa.
       "What smell?"
       "Smell it? That's dope."
       "It sure is," she confirmed.

      We lifted our noses like a couple of bloodhounds searching out the source. The smell got stronger and stronger as we turned left and walked to that door that as far as I knew was NEVER opened.

      The door had one of those slide latches on it. I reached up, grabbed the guide bar and slide it right.
      CLICK! I had no idea what would happen when I pushed open the brown, kind of worn out door. It opened easily enough but I couldn't see anything. But when I opened it a crack the cloud came rolling out.

      The familiar smell and smoke were thick. It reminded me of the old Richard Pryor joke. The punch line was: "The funk came out and knocked me to my ... D&%M Knees!"

     "What do we do now," Teresa asked as by now we both smelled like we'd been to a Doobie Brothers concert.
      "Ah.... We gotta do something. Find out who it was and fire 'em."
      "Let's go in and ask Kane who was just back here," she said.
      "Son of a bitch," I think I yelled. If it wasn't one thing it was another. By this point of the deli's operation, we'd been through lots, I mean lots, of stupid stuff. But I/we never dreamed anyone, NO ONE, would be dumb enough to smoke dope on the job. If they had gone outside to their car and fired up a doobie, that'd be stupid enough. But to smoke pot on the job and actually inside their place of employment is/was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay beyond reasonable.

      "Hey Kane."
      "Oh, hey Bill. You just can't break away from this place can you?"
      "Uh-no. Uh, who just came from the backroom?"
      "What?"
      "Who just came up front from the backroom," I asked
      "Ah, Austin and Jennifer from the coffeehouse."
      "Okay, I'm firing both right now. They've been smoking pot in the back."
      "Where?"
      "In the storage room."
      "Oh."
      "C'mon man, you didn't know??!! You can't leave them alone. Pay attention!"

     Turning my back on Kane, I wheeled around to Austin who was standing behind the deli's counter.
      "Austin!" I remember him as a big, fluffy kid. He had a mop of blond hair and a great smile. In fact, he was fantastic when it came to customer service and just about everything else. He was indeed a tremendous help to us. I absolutely hated what I had to do.
      "Yes sir."
      "Were you just smoking pot in the back storage room?"
      "Ah... yes sir."
      My first thought was, 'yikes, I expected a denial. He's admitted to it. Got to appreciate that. Maybe we can talk through it.' Seriously, running the deli was so chaotic that losing a warm body was like losing a limb. But, I had to do what we felt we had to do. Being constantly late, sitting down on the job, calling in sick on Mondays and Fridays are one thing... BUT SMOKING POT ON THE JOB INSIDE THE BUILDING is something else.
      "You're fired. Get out!"
      You know what he said next?
      "Yes sir."
      He never balked. He came around from behind the counter and walked out the front door.

     Believe it or not, I hired him back. Like I said, a warm body is a warm body. Unfortunately, I had to fire him for drinking on the job with a customer. He was only 17.  I last saw him in the grocery store parking lot. I barely recognized him. Still, we hugged and caught up. He's a family man now working for an oil field company.

      As for the coffeehouse girl smoking with him, I fired her too. She brought in her mom the next day who argued we should have given her daughter a drug test on the spot.
      "Sorry lady, I don't have a portable U-A," I told her. She and her daughter left. I don't think we've since crossed paths.

     So from that afternoon forward, that back storage room has been "Maryjane's Closet." We all called it that. Every time we hired a new employee and gave them the Day-One tour, I'd point out: "That's Maryjane's Closet because that's where we busted employees smoking pot on the job."

      If you think that story's crazy, wait 'til you hear about the kitchen manager who told me to get the "F&%K out of the kitchen" or the teenage girl who quit because I was rude. I was rude when I told her to put away her computer while working. She exclaimed: "I have homework to do!" Suffice it to say, that set me off.

Bill Robertson, for every ridiculous story--I have a few other stories about some great kids who I'm sure will go quite far.