Don't Put the Martinis in the Steam Iron

Name: Don't Put the Martinis in the Steam Iron
Author: https://www.simonandschuster.biz/authors/Susan-Kroening-Darby/259560003
ISBN: 9781939430427

By Susan Kroening Darby

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Excerpt

About The Book

A hilarious memoir of 1960s single life, San Francisco style

One broken nose, five roommates, and two years of spectacular disasters

Fresh out of college with a broken nose, an English degree, and absolutely no practical skills, Susan and her friends descend on San Francisco with nothing but enthusiasm and a vow to reach the Top of the Mark by September. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything—gloriously, hilariously, memorably.

From their crumbling Victorian apartment (complete with a tippling landlord in a bathrobe and an elevator that rarely works) to disastrous temp jobs that include plumbing duties at Candlestick Park, Susan chronicles the misadventures of young women navigating independence for the first time. There are exploding dinner parties, romantic mishaps with doctors who diagnose deviated septums on first dates, camping trips that should never have happened, and the unforgettable incident involving leftover crab that nearly gets them evicted.

Written in real time as these adventures unfolded—not decades later through the fog of nostalgia—this memoir captures the unfiltered voice of a young woman actually living it, mistakes and all.

With wit, warmth, and perfectly timed self-deprecation, Darby captures a moment when young women were rewriting the rules—one spectacular failure at a time. Whether she's falling out of a chairlift, shipwrecking herself in San Francisco Bay, or watching her roommate press a dress with gin-filled water from the steam iron, Susan finds the humor in every humiliation and the humanity in every disaster.

A time capsule of 1960s single life and a love letter to friendship, independence, and the beautiful chaos of finding yourself, DON'T PUT THE MARTINIS IN THE STEAM IRON is perfect for anyone who remembers—or wants to remember—what it was like to be young, broke, and gloriously, messily free.

For fans of Nora Ephron and Erma Bombeck

Sometimes the best stories come from the worst decisions.

Excerpt

CHAPTER V: THE CRAB — SMELL IS WORSE THAN ITS BITE

It was a Friday night and it was Teddy's turn to have the twelve members of her opera group over for dinner. Katie and Kacy were to be gone for the weekend, which just left Janet and myself. We both had dinner dates and agreed to stay out of Teddy's way and to clean up for her afterwards, as Teddy was spending the rest of the weekend at her cousin's. Jan and I were leaving together at 8:30 and Teddy's group would be out of the apartment by 7:30.

Teddy had a very simple, but elegant meal. Fresh crab, hard rolls, salad, wine and fruit with cheese and nuts for dessert. Her group arrived promptly at 6:00 and left just as promptly at 7:30. Jan and I rushed around, and a half hour later, we had the dishes done and the leftover food put away—or so we thought.

Jan and I arrived home with our respective dates about 2:00. As we opened the door to our apartment, it was obvious that something had died. The smell was so strong that oxygen masks were in order. I muttered something about it being rather stuffy and Jan gagged once or twice and one of the boys mentioned that we could stay with his sister. At any rate, it was such that none of us could pass it off with much aplomb.

The boys decided to stay and help investigate, so each took a room and methodically checked under each bed and threw open each window. The odor was strong when we reached the kitchen door. There on the sideboard was the crab, no longer fresh, waiting to be put in the icebox. Jan grabbed a paper bag, plopped it all in, and I raced with it to the back door and threw it down the golden garbage chute. The boys decided not to stay for scrambled eggs and departed.

After they left, Jan and I grabbed perfume atomizers off the bureaus and sprayed each room. We fell into bed and the next thing I heard was a loud banging. I thought it was my head and rolled over, but Jan got up and answered the door. It was obvious that while the crab had left our apartment, it had not left the building. There stood Juanita Banner, wife of the owner.

"There is a strange odor throughout the entire building," Mrs. Banner began, "and I am going to get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do!" Her voice was getting higher pitched as she went along. "I was awakened at 6:00 by Mrs. Simpson, who said the smell was so strong in her room she was forced to sleep with Mr. Simpson. And Mrs. Weaver spent most of the night in her bathroom. We have searched the entire building and have found no trace. I am calling a meeting of all tenants in the main lobby at 11:00, but in the meantime, I want you girls to be on the lookout. Something, or someone, has been killed!" Then, with a hysterical screech, she was off.

Jan entered the room and rolled her eyes. It was our crab.

"I think she suspects us. I bet ours is the only apartment that smells like Chanel No. 5," Jan acknowledged.

"I threw it down the garbage chute, I really did. You look like I scattered it throughout the entire building. Well, I didn't. I threw it down the chute, and the last time I saw it, it was in that bag. We aren't going to tell her."

"I know we can't tell her. The way she feels, we'd be evicted. She'll find it all right and we can never let her know it was us."

We both vividly recalled that it was only two weeks ago that Teddy and Katie threw the warm coals from the hibachi down the chute and the building started to smolder.

At 11:00 the buzzer rang and Mrs. Banner summoned the tenants to her meeting. We started for the lobby.

Mrs. Banner stood in front of the group quietly gagging into a handkerchief. She was flanked by Mr. Banner in flannel, and Bert in his cups.

"I have called you here for the most obvious reason. We must find the spot where this smell is coming from. If any of you have knowledge or information, please speak up. I am afraid it is a question of us all moving out if this continues."

Silence.

"Juanita and I have searched the building and believe it is in the heating system."

Silence.

Eventually the meeting was adjourned after a few inane comments by some of the tenants and really because no one could stand the smell another minute.

A half an hour later there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Banner had found the source of the odor. Some crab had been thrown down the garbage chute and was not properly wrapped. Harry was, at this very moment, on the roof alternately hosing and squirting "Mr. Clean" and various disinfectants down the chute. She was very much relieved, and although she knew it wasn't our fault, warned us to be careful in the future.

The smell lasted about four days, and although Janet and I were sorry about the whole thing, we really kind of enjoyed it. Incidentally, Harry with all his hosing had flooded the lobby with garbage and water. I really don't know how he did it.

About The Author

Susan Kroening Darby

Susan K. Darby arrived in San Francisco in the 1960s with an English degree, a broken nose, and the ability to cook exactly one thing: fried egg sandwiches. Despite typing minus-five words per minute, she became one of the youngest women stockbrokers at Paine Webber Jackson & Curtis and later spent decades at Morgan Stanley. She lives in Chicago and still can't make a graph.

Why We Love It

This is that rare memoir that captures lived experience without the polish of hindsight. Susan's voice is immediate and genuine—you're not reading about disasters, you're living them with her. The humor never feels forced, the characters leap off the page (a landlord in a bathrobe! A barber who paints everything gold!), and somehow a book set sixty years ago feels completely relevant to anyone who's ever been young, broke, and trying to figure out adulthood. It's funny, it's warm, and it's the book you hand to someone who needs a good laugh.