Where I Live, Part 762,537 -- No Partners, a bar in Astoria

Where I Live is a series of posts about wherever I live. This entry is Part 762,537 and titled: No Partners, a bar in Astoria.

I'm not sure why but Queens doesn't quite have the reputation of its neighbors. Brooklyn is seen as "hip" and Bronx is seen as "burning" and Manhattan is seen as "the epicenter of the world and if anyone disagrees they are probably from one of those cursed 'flyover' states, which are full of people who never leave because they think they are the epicenter of the world but no, in fact, Manhattan is, so those 'flyover' peoples can suck my dicktini."

And if you're IN Queens (the Astoria part), and if you're looking for an exciting night on the town full of laughter and fun...do not go to No Partners. In fact, I would recommend never going to No Partners. If you find yourself in No Partners, you're already dead, man. Already dead.

No Partners is part dive bar, part mafia hangout. Inside, you'll find a bar, some stools, a MegaTouch, a juke box, and a pool table. To describe these things any more would be giving them more attention than they have ever received. No Partners seems to thrive on people, both patrons and employees, not giving a shit. I don't mean that in a mean way, I just mean, "eh, who cares, you know, it's fuckin' No Partners so whatever."

Remember, No Partners is a mafia hangout so this nonchalant attitude is not of the cool, laid back variety but more of the "say something and you're fucking done" variety. I know this because I saw it.

Upon finishing my game of pool and my beer (I bravely lost both the game and my beer in challenging matches of friend vs foe), I ventured toward the back of the bar where I believed a restroom to be (in this, I was correct -- small victories, friends). Opposite the men's room was an open door. I paused (stupid! stupid!) and looked in the room. Inside, were about 9 men (oh, by the way, there were about 4 people in the rest of the bar) watching another man play some sort of betting machine. They were all smoking (illegal in bars in NY) and drinking (from some other stock as the bartender had not ventured back here) and one saw me looking. He walked over and shut the door in my face.

I walked back to the bar, where my friend was watching a muted TV showcasing a basketball game, and saw two leather jacketed New York-style men come in and asked for "Uncle Richie." The exchange went as follows:

Guy: Hey, Herb, where's Uncle Ritchie?
Bartender: He's over there.
Guy: Uncle Ritchie, get the fuck out of here. Bob wants you.
Uncle Ritchie: What?
Guy: Uncle Ritchie, get the fuck out of here. Bob wants you.
Guy #2: Come on, Uncle Ritchie, time to go.

Guy #2 then grabbed Uncle Ritchie and they walked out. No one else said a word. Herb the Bartender was decidedly quiet. I was scared shitless. Who was Uncle Ritchie? Where was he going? Who were these guys? And...What about Bob?

The drinks were moderately priced, the service thin-lipped, and the 4 ball was missing from the pool table. Oh, and maybe a guy got killed. All told, No Partners is the best bar Astoria has to offer.