Carried Away: Bar-hopping with a real flight crew in Kew Gardens
Kew Gardens is extremely populated with flight personnel. The neighborhood has been a hot spot for flight crews since the 1960s, the heyday of Trans World Airlines (TWA). So many crew members (there are thousands) have crash pads and more permanent residences there that the neighborhood is colloquially known as “Crew Gardens.” It’s virtually spitting distance to both Kennedy and LaGuardia airports, and the rent ain’t bad either.
I’ve always been drawn to transient folks; growing up, my father had a carry-on perpetually pre-packed and ready to roll, as he traveled for work a few weeks out of every month. Then I spent much of my early 20s peripatetic, drifting from city to city, often surrounded by touring musicians living a similar lifestyle. I always wanted to know the unglamorous parts of their lives, how they adapted to life on the road, what they ate, how the time away from home did or did not take a toll on them.
What’s it like to go out in your own city when you spend so much of your time globetrotting and sleeping in hotel beds? The up-in-the-air lives and goings-on of flight attendants and pilots has long been a fascination of mine as well, so I invited some of my New York City–based flight crew friends, Brandon and Jess, on our own Crew Gardens bar crawl. They don’t live in Queens, but are here routinely enough to fly out of both New York City airports, and they cited many colleagues who do live in Kew Gardens as well as other neighborhoods scattered throughout the borough—though, unfortunately, most were out of town on the night of our field trip.
We met on a Friday evening for happy hour. I spotted a Delta flight attendant in her smart purple uniform, rolling her suitcase along the sidewalk as I entered Hangar 11, an airline-themed sports bar popular with locals with and without wings. It just so happened to be the bar’s fifth anniversary on the night of our visit, and the wait staff was celebrating with balloons tethered to the tall chairs surrounding the bar, free Modelos and complementary soccer-ball-shaped bottle openers and branded koozies. The menus were digital (“only the finest for our customers,” the bartender deadpanned)—iPads scattered across the bartop—swipeable selections of punny flight bites like “1st Class Mac”—an overloaded five-cheese macaroni dish topped with bacon and chicken—and cocktails like “The Layover”—a signature Margarita.
None of us had slept a wink—Brandon had worked an overnight flight to Las Vegas; Jess had made the most of her night off, out on the town with friends and I’d spent the night in a 24-hour café after spying a rat slinking its way across my bedroom floor at 2am.
When the music cranked all the way up, prematurely making the uncrowded bar feel like a nightclub at just 8pm, and we were screaming over each other and our garlic wings, we ambled on to a more intimate venue a block away—Last Call, a classy pool hall joint with dimmed lighting and salty old Queens characters aplenty. They asked us to scooch out of their way many times, so they could angle for a better shot at the pool table. The vibe here? Decidedly more chill. It’s said to be a flight crew favorite, but Brandon and Jess tell me it’s hit or miss—some nights, all the flight attendants seem to be away on trips at the same time (that seemed to be the case on our big night out) and sometimes bars like Last Call are crawling with cosmopolitan, professional travelers off the clock.
We hunkered down in a cozy corner, and I spoke with Brandon and Jess about the flying-high parts of the job—traveling the world, constantly meeting new people, being pushed out of one’s introverted comfort zone. But talk inevitably turned to the hardships as well, particularly how working for an airline can impact one’s love life.
Both Brandon and Jess told me about breakups they’d weathered within the past year. Every relationship has its own unique DNA and accompanying set of challenges, but airline workers share some common dating woes—it’s hard to build something with someone when you can’t firmly commit to plans (flight crews work standby schedules, so they never know for sure if they’ll really be able to make that Saturday night date or not). If the object of your affection doesn’t understand or stomach the inconsistency, you can be misinterpreted as a flake.
Then there are the stereotypes and misconceptions. Brandon said former dates have assumed he’s promiscuous, that being a flight attendant means constant partying and “orgies back at my hotel room.” He admits that there’s certainly a fair amount of drinking that goes on (we were on a pub crawl of our own making while having this conversation) and, sure, some flight attendants do enjoy wilding out wherever they roam, but there are plenty like himself, who often favor a cozy night in with takeout at their hotel.
At our last stop, Austin’s Ale House, we all ordered vodka sodas (and I couldn’t resist a platter of mozzarella squares drizzled with marinara sauce—a greasy godsend after washing back a few drinks).
As we left Kew Gardens, there was still a queue slithering out the door of Dani’s House of Pizza (a community staple known for their white pies) and I felt a twinge of regret, not having the gall to stop the cab right then and there to procure a slice for myself. “Next time,” I solemnly swore under my breath.
My flight attendant friends do seem to have more stamina than I do—our shared cab continued on to another venue after dropping me off at my partner’s home to get some rodent-free shut-eye. But then again, when you’ve grown accustomed to remaining on your feet, perky and attentive to often rude and needy passengers for 8+ hour flights, you can probably handle just about anything.
Hangar 11 | @hangar11bar
Last Call
Austin’s Ale House | @austinsalehousekg
Dani’s House of Pizza | @danishouseofpizza
