The People You Meet At Airport Bars

I love an airport bar. I'm talking a classic, overpriced spot with little to no ambiance, four boring, but very established beers on tap and a bartender sporting a lanyard. Hey, I’m low maintenance when it comes to killing time between whatever travel hiccups blow my way. Sure, you could hit the lounges, drown your travel anxiety with all-you-can-drink whatever, but that vibe is more laptopy (An adjective I just made up.) Not very social. I prefer an unpredictable rotation of people from wherever, going wherever. A swift, non-committal, non-judgement conversation that will pass the time of even the worst airline’s mechanical issues. These are the places you can meet a one-hour friend. I won't partake in those bars where you order through ipads. You punch in an order and swipe your card like you’re at a food & booze ATM. What a burn on society. That says, “Nobody wants to talk to you anymore. Click these buttons if you want something, and here are the suggested gratuities.” Ouch. That hurts. (I’m looking at you, Toronto Pearson.)

I should disclose I’m one of those weirdos who gets to the airport at least two hours early every time I fly. Sure, I could get TSA pre-check, but I know even if I did, I’d still get there way too soon. It’s engraved in me. I’ve been passed by MANY people, with their short explanations like,

“Ummm my flight leaves in 45 minutes- do you mind if I cut in front of you?”

Of course I say yes cuz I’m a sucker, but what I WANT to say is,

“Why am I responsible for your lack of punctuality? Watching you run across the airport and get to the gate right as it closes is some of the best entertainment I get here.”

Okay that makes me sound like a dick, but in the wise words of Radiohead,

“You do it to yourself, you do. And that’s what really hurts.”

Sure, sometimes my flight leaves a wee too early for the pre-flight beer -although it is both legal and somewhat socially acceptable to hit that airport bar at 6am- at least in Denver it is. Great connecting city, solid selection, and better prices than NYC that’s for sure. But today my flight is at a very reasonable 4:50pm. Happy hour, essentially. (With more of a surcharge than discount.)

I live in New York, so my preferred launching pad is LaGuardia. It’s looking fresh these days, recently renovated, a more expeditious cab ride than JFK. There’s not too many options for bars, and even if there was, I always gravitate towards the one closest to my gate. (I MUST make eye contact with my gate before I find a beer. A neurotic habit of sorts.)

These spots can be pretty packed, so I often have to ask people to move a purse or backpack off a stool to make room for me. There are hooks under the bar. Your eyes probably look right past them as you're looking for an outlet. Please respect your fellow bar flies.

I pony up to my Terminal B local. I squish into a seat between two men roughly my age. (Give or take a decade- who knows anymore.) I order an IPA, cuz I know I’m only having one beer, so I might as well go wild with it. The guy on my left is reading a script. Maybe he's getting ready for an audition or trying to memorize lines for a show he already booked. I don't have the balls to look at him for more than two seconds to decide if he's famous or not, so I look back down at my phone. It's probably better not to interrupt him. Distractions are a dime a dozen these days. I'll let the guy work.

The guy on my right has just settled his bill but that’s okay. The rotation of these bars is comparable to speed dating. A new guy rolls up stat.

“How much are drinks here? Twelve bucks?”

I respond right away.

“Fifteen with tip.”

He takes a seat anyway. He seems more anxious to drink than I am, which I don’t judge. Not everyone likes to fly. Small talk is easy at airports so he asks the classic.

“Where are you headed?”

“Toronto, then Vancouver. And you?”

“Nashville.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I love Nashville.”

“Yeah I’ve been living in Long Island for work the past four months and I’m finally going home. But I took one of those vouchers to step off my flight and take a later one and now I’ve been stuck here all day.”

Ahhhh the voucher game. I do it too, when I have no where to be. (I’ll tell you a story on this another time.)

He orders a beer. I can tell he’s already been drinking. It is New York, after all. I certainly paired my Ace’s Pizza with a Fiddlehead IPA before I left Brooklyn. We continue with some basic stranger chit chat- ask each other’s jobs. I tell him I work on cruise ships.

“I’ve been on a bunch of cruises. Me and my wife love 'em.”

Always good to hear the “wife-drop” cuz even though I’m sitting to his left, I didn't notice a ring. As he takes down his beer with gulps so big I see bulges in his neck, he starts up a fresh story.

“Airport bars are always a rip-off. I stopped at a convenience store on the way here and grabbed a six pack. Then when I returned my rental car I sat in the parking lot and drank 'em all.”

I let out something between a chuckle and an exhale.

“Yeah, then a security guy came over to me and asked me what I was doing, so I told him the truth: beers are too expensive in the airport so I’m gonna drink out here then go in. You want one? He said no, but I was like “Am I in trouble?” And he goes, “No… I’ve just never seen anyone do that before.”

Nor have I. But I picture a few people I know who might try that next time. He gets a text.

“Oh looks like I’m finally going.”

He pays his tab with that urgency that's common here. I don’t look to see how much he tips cuz that’s a bad habit of mine I need to curb. As he grabs his backpack and runs towards his gate he looks back at me and yells,

“Oh and tell the cruise lines to stop asking for vaccinations! I wanna go back!”

Not really a full one-hour friend, but an interaction none the less. On that note, my flight starts to board too. As I disembark from the bar I turn back to guy working hard on his the script.

“Break a Leg.”