The Wisdom of Morgues and Delis

I have heard people say all they ever really needed to know is what they learned in kindergarten. Nope. I don’t think kindergarten lessons can hold a candle to what I learned over a dead body or a pastrami on rye with a pickle. I actually never attended kindergarten - it was a half day type thing and my mother wanted me out of the house at least till 3 PM, so that was out. But I can say that the countless hours I have spent in morgues and delis have been the height of enlightenment.

What you learn first when around death or a meat slicer, is that life is unpredictable. Not one single person who ended up on a metal table with a tagged toe could predict the moment when they would be eligible to be admitted to that exclusive club. I always wondered if the toe tag number was the one that people always say inevitably “comes up, when it comes up.” Hang around a delicatessen meat slicer and inevitability will hit you in the face, or should I say, slice your hand. Both are just a matter of time.

Another thing that is an absolute fact, and hilarious to me is that no matter what, hell or high water, people, especially people of a certain age, are always thinking about food and death. Standing outside the morgue waiting to identify the body of a loved one, people actually, not kidding will say, “...after this wanna stop and grab a nosh?” And at the deli counter with food everywhere, and people eating, some nudnik will always share some gruesome tidbit, ..”yeah, quite the accident, his head came clean off...I was right there!” Funerals and food intertwine endlessly, sitting Shiva and casseroles, a sign on a shelf on the door of the morgue “please leave food deliveries here.” (where in there would a person eat?), a sign at the deli counter, “specials for patrons of Lefkowitz’s funeral home.” (Patrons? So, they go there a lot?)

Delis and morgues are places that magically reveal who people really are, tearing away the facades that they maintain everywhere else. Lesson learned: never leave a family member alone with a dead body, or a customer with a plate of fresh cookies with a little sign that says “please take one.” They are not to be trusted! You may come back to a dead body lying kicked aside next to an overturned autopsy table, and the echo of maniacal laughter of the departing relative (oooh the fine line of love and hate). You may come back to crumbs on the plate, a guilty looking customer, or no customer (eating disorders take so many forms). For certain you will see the full spectrum of human behaviors while you order your kosher meats that play out nearly identically at the foot of the autopsy table - the best and worst of humanity tumbles out and splashes everyone in sight. Beware.

Customer service has the same issues over toe tags and price tags. The new widow screaming at the medical examiner that the noose around her husband’s neck does not necessarily indicate suicide seethes with the anger. He is cheating her out of life insurance money. Down the block the frustration of the aging deli customer rages. She has been cheated out of extra bologna slices. Morgues and delis are often places where people come to express their frustrations or oddly their bliss. The battered wife freed now from her abuser, still bearing the bruises from their last encounter, tries so hard not to laugh and smile as she gazes down on her late husband's shell, giggling as she leaves, embarrassed but relieved, hugs the coroner spontaneously on her way out. The lovely, newly divorced bouncy yoga teacher, pretending to be interested in liverwurst at the front of the showcase, flirts and poses soaking up the attention of the very handsome young man behind it. Delis and morgues uniquely frame humanity, memorably in both obvious and subtle ways.

The greatest lessons in both of these unrecognized institutions of learning are taught in the messages and engagements of everyday people doing everyday things, in the most unexpected, unpredictable and beautiful ways. The doctor performing an autopsy on the victim of a horrific car accident stays late into the night, washing, grooming, and even redressing the body because of his concern that a young son scheduled to identify him will otherwise be horribly shocked and damaged at the sight. The deli owner that befriends a poor college student, gives her work she can do in addition to a dozen or more other jobs built around her studies, and sends her home with a shopping bag of food every time he sees her. Food and death, morgues and delis bring out the best and worst of humanity. Stand inside the doorway of either one and you are immersed in the inevitable. Everything that lives eats, and everything that lives and eats, dies. Nothing to worry about, nothing we can do about either thing, so we all might as well treasure the time we have enjoy a nosh, until “its up.”