Most Caterers Have Customers; Jeannie Has Her Friends

Here in the sprawling land of low-slung warehouses, body shops, car dealerships, boat manufacturers, print shops and mysterious high-tech enterprises, people can get hungry. Honest work will do that to you.

Except seeing as how in this part of the urban outback not even a McDonald’s has staked a claim, this can present a problem. Stomachs growl, heads hurt, moods can turn ornery.

And then comes Jeannie--driving like a bat out of hell--except she’s wearing a huge smile.

Ta-da-da dat da-da dat da-da-da . Her horn blares the racing call seconds before she stops her truck. It’s the same bugle melody you hear at the track seconds before they’re off.

Which they are here too, off and running, throwing down rags, wiping hands on their pant legs and sweat off their brows. (On this particular day, the temperature has to be hovering around 150 degrees in the shade). They just help themselves to what they want from the truck.

Jeannie Simonelli (she of Jeannie’s Catering), wife of Vic Simonelli (he of Vic’s Catering), doesn’t even look to see who’s taking what and where they are putting it after that.

That’s because Jeannie’s customers are her friends, or maybe it’s the other way around. It doesn’t seem to matter at all.

“Hi, sweetie!” she says, taking money from one worker at Theodore Robins Ford in Costa Mesa.

“Oh, honey, you’re covered!” she tells another, glancing quickly at the worn notebook where she keeps track of all the running tabs.

Gary (that’s what the name tag on his uniform says) comes over and plants a wet one on Jeannie’s cheek. “She’s one of the sweetest ladies you will ever want to meet,” he says.

And you gotta believe the guy. Because the evidence is just overwhelming.

Sweetie here, honey there, hi Dave and Barbara and how ya doin’ Jim and Pablo and, “What did you name your little girl? Maria. I like that. Real pretty. Maria.” And on and on from there.

It’s worth noting that none of these folks are wearing name tags. They’ve all got on smiles.

Jeannie Simonelli has been doing this for 25 years. A few months ago over at the Newport-Mesa Unified School District, another one of her maybe 150, maybe 200 stops, they gave her a pin that pointed that out. It made Jeannie feel real proud.

She just loves her job to death, which helps. She’s out of the house at 4 a.m., then she’s home again at 8:30, 9 o’clock at night. It’s a family thing with her. She gives her customers more than just food and drink. She gives them love.

“I’m just real close to them, honey,” she tells me. “There’s just no other way to put it.”

We’re at McGregor Yachts now, right on schedule. The whistle calling break time just tooted loud and clear. The fellows surround Jeannie’s truck in no time flat. She’s set up her little folding table, making change and writing up tabs. The action is very brisk. These guys, they want to eat.

“Thanks, honey. Got it. You’re covered,” Jeannie is cooing to this one and that.

One guy exchanges the warm Pepsi he brought from home for a cold one from the truck. That’s OK, Jeannie tells me, because hardly any of them do that.

“How you doing, Pop?” she says to one customer who’s handing her two bills, a five and a one, and is about to walk away.

“Honey, watch what you got here,” Jeannie says. “It’s all right because it’s me, but you got to watch that.” Jeannie hands him back his five and gets a dollar bill instead.

Jeannie is 57. She has high blood pressure and had a stroke a few years back. Once, she got ripped off--somebody just came up and grabbed her bills and ran--but it was so long ago that Jeannie can’t remember when.

There have been two bad accidents--both last January and both when another driver ran a red light--so wouldn’t it be great if next January she could just head to Hawaii instead?

That’s not going to happen, though, because Jeannie Simonelli says she doesn’t do vacations--not counting weekends off. She’s got one sister, still in Georgia, and when the sister wants to see Jeannie, she comes out here.

All of this go, go, go--sometimes it can get to Jeannie’s husband, Vic. But he says, “What are you going to do?”

“She’s the same at home, wanting to do everything,” Vic says. “She’s what you call a workaholic. She won’t stop and then there’s no use in me trying to stop her because it creates hard feelings and we get to fighting.”

Vic, though, he’s going to retire this year, or at least work less than he does now. He’s 65. As it is, he does most of the domestic-type stuff, especially with the three grandkids. Jeannie calls him wonderful. This November, they’ll be married 39 years.

“Can I just tell you something about Jeannie?” asks Steve Kouracos, owner of Auto Cosmetics Inc.

“She’s just a Christian-type person. She’s one of the best people with trust. She believes in her clients. If I don’t have any money, she’ll give it to me or she’ll let it ride.”

Carolyn Kouracos, Steve’s wife, tells the story of what happened at the gas station two months ago. Carolyn had just paid and was heading for her car. Jeannie was there too, only neither one of them saw each other at the time.

Next thing Carolyn knows, Jeannie is pushing her out of the way of a speeding van that almost ran her down.

“If she hadn’t grabbed me, I would have been dead,” Carolyn says.

“Ah, sweetie,” Jeannie says. “That’s so nice of you to say that.”

“I learned a long time ago, honey,” Jeannie starts, then pauses just a bit.

“My dad, back in Georgia, he used to say, ‘It’s better to have friends than it is money.’ And, you know, it was one of those things that you normally wouldn’t listen to, but I did. Well, it’s true. Money can’t buy the friends that I have. They’re precious.”