Excerpt: Suz Kling of Bandon, Oregon
"I felt waitress work could go one of two ways. Either it would build confidence, if you were the kind of person who needed confidence building, because if you worked at it hard and long enough, you come to the conclusion you could fix, change, or remedy anything with a free piece of cheesecake. The other thing though, for a person like me, a type A control freak who probably had too much confidence and aggression and chutzpah and needed maybe a few lessons in the opposite direction, it was good because I had to accept I couldn't change everything. You have to surrender. 'It's caca. It's awful. You're right. I did ruin your outfit. You did get the wrong meal. I'm so sorry.'"
Suz Kling, SUZ as she signs her letters in neon magic markers, is off and going and going and going, a kewpie doll with attitude, much mascara surrounding huge eyes, hair hennaed, red sneakers hightopped (she is a leather rejecting vegetarian), red lip-sticked mouth from which issue blazing campy vampy voices and lingo one deduces from context -- "doing Bertha" means cleaning, while "'tron," from non-sexist yet mocking waitron, means waitress -- for why interrupt the show?
She has been vocalizing about Andrea's Old Time Cafe in Bandon, Oregon. The cafe, which attracts locals all year and tourists in the summer, looks inviting, with handwritten for sale/wanted/guitar lesson signs at the door and a sense inside that the ceiling supported its share of macrame plant hangers. Suz probably dusted them. "I started out cleaning the restaurant, not 'tronning." Neither was her intention.
In 1977, she was part of "a busload of New York hippies in search of some place to live." After stopping "in Oklahoma once by mistake," where she briefly acted as a cocktail waitress in a dry state (do not get her started on that), the group left sooner than later for Oregon, lured by mild weather and progressive politics. They happened upon the coastal village of Bandon.
"Knew I would live and die here. But what are you going to do in a tiny little town to make money? I had the philosophy degree [from Columbia], but that's not exactly preparation for a long-term career. I begged and whined and got myself in at the library for part-time. Libraries are not well-funded even in the best of times, and I still needed more money. I went to Andrea and said, 'I could clean this place. I could do Bertha once a week, you could pay me $40, we could trade in food, also.' I loved it. My mind was to myself and nobody bothered me."
Suz commuted by motorcycle, strapping on a rented rug cleaning machine and opera records with bungee cords, then scrubbed to arias when the cafe was closed. Knowing that Suz worked without gloves ("A true anal retentive has to feel the grit and get it off with their finger¬nails."), the pastry chef once snuck a surprise into her pail. "You've never had a shock in your life until you've touched a peeled banana in Spic n Span underneath the bubbles. 'Oh my God, she did cut it off his body, finally.'" In ways, Suz was best suited as "Bertha." Even now, working fulltime in the library, every lunch hour she drives to her one room circular house (picture a Japanese inn with a psychedelic decorator) to clean it. "I sort of view this scene as a stage set, so when I come home, I want it to be perfect. I wash all the dishes, possibly even scrub out the sink, vacuum, Mop & Glo the bricks. That's what make them shiny. Wipe the surfaces. Surface wipe is important to a type A personality."
Unfortunately for some of the public, Type A needed more income. Suz became a waitress, too.
"It's a very hard job to leave, because they always need you. They'll call you at midnight. 'So-and-so didn't show up. We're desperate. We're begging. Please!' What are you going to do? If you're the slightest bit co-dependent, you're going to show up. Women are perfect for this job because we are trained to be co-dependent. 'Oh, you need me! I'll be right there.' Of course, I had this co-dependent relationship with this alcoholic. [Her ex-husband]. My life melded."
"Anything's an opportunity to inquire into yourself or study people and certainly waitressing is the prime opportunity. I was very conscious of, how much can I push myself there? I used to be in theater when I was 'tronning. I stopped. I wanted to do 'The Vampire Lesbians.' I'm not doing 'The Sound of Mucus,' no."
At Andrea's of Bandon, Suz of New York had center stage.
"The entire time I waitressed, my goal was to establish equality. When 'the 50s' guys called out 'Hey honey, babe,' I would do it right back to them. If somebody was treating me in what I thought was a servile way or abusive, my goal was to get us equal so we can face each other and do our necessary exchange." Name exchanges were not part of it. "I'm here in a servile server position and that's how we're going to have a relationship." It was hands off as well. She told customers who touched her that they could die if they did that again.
"The more years I worked there, the more edgy my humor got. I used to think I need to open up an S&M bar and do dominatrix Suzie, because these people seem to think this is funny." If someone across the room signaled her, she signaled back, as if playing charades. "'What does it mean? A plate? It looks like a plate? It's a glass. It's half empty!'"
