A quick background on Reggie: as well as being a flight attendant, he was a small time landlord in Queens. He managed a few apartments as “crashpads” for fellow flight attendants.
*For those who don’t know, a “crashpad” is an apt filled with bunkbeds (say 5 bunkbeds in each of the 2 bedrooms in 1 apartment and he’d rent out the place to 20 people—each renting 1 bed for far less than an apartment—and the FAs have a spot to literally “crash” between trips. It’s ideal for commuters). * Cam had rented one of these beds in Reggie’s “crashpad” for years. He was well known in the community. So, back to the story … Reggie said he felt awful and partially responsible for our needing to scramble for a place. “Maybe I’ll be ready to sublet in a month or two—you’re first on the list,” he said, “but for now I have another solution.” He’d decided to expand his “crashpad” operation and just leased a beautiful mansion in Kew Gardens. It’s unique because it had a big yard and directly across from a sprawling park. He was only going to fill the top floor bedrooms with bunkbeds, so there’s an, “entire basement apt—with completely separate entrance from the house—it’s yours if you want it.” We did. As we continued prep for the 2000-mile trek across the country, we drooled over pictures of the new house we’d live. It was multi-million dollar mansion with a large, heavily treed yard, perfect for our dog. We couldn’t believe our luck and Reggie’s small one-bedroom apartment vanished from our minds. We loaded everything into a Penske and started our road trip. By then, we had 2 days (3 days, max) to get into the city and start unpacking. I’d set up a new job in Manhattan and my new boss was taking a bit of a chance since I wasn’t actually living in the city upon my hiring. I assured him I’d be on the job by Monday. It was Friday when we officially took off. Memories of the trip are colorful. We were excited for the new chapter of our lives. Even being under the gun, so to speak, we had a blast listening to music and books on CD in our truck cab, and staring at the rolling green hills of Appalachia. It wasn’t til we reached the tolls and bridges crisscrossing Manhattan that the stress of living in New York poured over us. At one point, we had to U-turn out of a toll plaza because the booth didn’t take credit cards. It wasn’t until we pulled up to the mansion that things really went wrong. There really was a mansion (pictured above) and Reggie was planning to set it up as a new crash pad. That part was true. He just hadn’t actually leased it yet. His promises of the basement apartment were hollow because it was his to rent out. We met him at the house and we stepped into the basement “apartment,” chock full of office furniture: desks, bookcases, computer equipment. It wasn’t Reggie’s place and it wasn’t livable.
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January 2021
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