THE COLLEGE POINT CLASS CONFLICT PUB CRAWL (CPC^2)

As I lie here, re-writing this piece, listening to the mostly-dead Ramones, what really strikes me is how my hands got sturdier as the CPC went on. Most of the shots with camera shake come from the first roll and the first two bars – The Pour House and The Point Bar and Grill. By the time we hit Rob Roy’s and the Sports Garden, I was feeling steadier than a sniper after taking his steady pills. The confidence shows in the photos (mostly).

We set out expecting a reception much like the characters in Turistas Go Home, after all we went into the heart and bowels of College Point, Queens. Mamma and Papa Bell’ had tried to warn us not to do this. Thought we were cruisin’ for a bruisin’. Hell, we half expected it ourselves. We were going to be heading into one of the bluer-collared parts of Queens, itself a blue-collar extension of white-collar Manhattan, the shiningly white collared City on a Hill.

Myself, RB, C-Mike and his g/f from KA, and three other rhs-ers headed out into the blue-collar stronghold expecting the worst. With fists clenched (thumbs out), armed only with our wits and my Vivitar v4000 we went to get our drink on.

And emerged unscathed. Thee was no violence, no threats, hisses, obscenities, or stitches required. The Pour House greeted us with free green shots (Butterscotch and Apple Pucker?) when the five of us rolled in and tripled the crowd. New and designed like a hang out for sub-fratty people, we even thought about staying all night – they had City Worker Specials on Thursdays.



Leaving to meat up with the other two ex-Regians, we passed some puke, the fake Liberty Bell in a North Fork Bank, and not much else.

The Point Bar and Grill had old bikers, a big trough to piss in, and old exercise bikes on the back stage. And an old dude just drinking there in-between brining up more bottles from the cellar.



The further we got into College Point, the cheaper the beer got, the higher the possibility for danger rose, and the nicer the people got. Rob Roy’s had computer trivia and a dartless dart board on the wall, the NY Post warning of the Gran Bomb, and some dude born in Somerville who played host for us.



Sports Garden, after a 7-11 Go-Go Taquito run and a walk by shooting of the federally closed J.P.’s on the Blvd., was even better. Debbie the Bartendress brought us in, checked our IDs, got out beers, gave us food, served up a few drinks, and made sure we got home alright. We even got a round of shots from the locals who were looking for us return the favor.



The worst part was the 15 min layover at Flushing Main Street for my bus home. Consider yourselves invited to CPC `07 next Thanxgiving.

“Why don’t Puerto Ricans have checking accounts?
Because it’s hard to sign your name in spray paint!”
-Debbie of Sports Garden

All photos can be seen on my Flickr site. (Yeah, I joined the Flickolvution.)