Love Under The Tent: Sober Reflections At The Boardy Barn

I gripped the steering wheel as I entered the Boardy Barn parking lot last Sunday at a little after 3 p.m. The Hampton Bays watering hole was packed out—a line snaking around the building and out to who knows where.I had rolled down my window to hear just how loud the place was, when a bouncer standing outside told me I was “a little late to the party.”

That’s when I noticed his bright orange T-shirt, worn solely by bouncers, that kindly warned, “I’m just doing my job.”

It was my first time at the Boardy Barn—and, let me tell you, this was not my scene.

In college, I missed out, or so they say, on clubbing and barhopping. Instead, I was a homebody who played video games and stuck to the more innocent stuff in life, such as movie-going and late nights with close friends.

Even now, at 26, whenever I do go out, I feel out of place at bars. I try to have fun, and I want to have fun, but the at times excessive drinking and interaction with buzzed strangers has always put me off.

Sunday, I was going it alone. There I was at the Boardy Barn, known for its never-ending flow of beer and smiling yellow stickers. Because I was a party of one, another kindly bouncer escorted me toward the front of the massive line, which starts forming around noon, two hours before doors even open.

“These are your new friends,” he told me as I stepped into line. I chuckled, hoping he was right—I had heard that the Barn crowd is friendly. A few minutes later, my hopes were momentarily dashed when a girl behind me on her cell phone, who had been passed over for entry, griped, “The bouncer keeps letting in ugly and fat girls.”

Nice.

As I moved up in line, which felt like waiting for a ride at Six Flags amusement park, I found myself contemplating where this cross-section of strangers hailed from.

Many of the 20-somethings in line sported sunglasses, protecting their eyes from the afternoon sun. A lot of women wore crop tops and sunglasses, while the men dressed in T-shirts with jeans or shorts. I was advised to wear a tank top and the cheapest flip flops I could find, so I wouldn’t ruin my shoes with the beer that would inevitably spill on me.

According to co-owner Mickey Shields, the Boardy Barn goes through 50 to 100 kegs of draft beer every Sunday—and that’s not including the canned beer. Multiply that by the 17 Sundays that the establishment is open, and you’ve got as much as 1,700 kegs—more than a quarter of a million gallons, and 2.1 million pint glasses. A year.

After I paid my $20 to enter, I watched a group of experienced Barn-goers put their belongings into protective plastic baggies before heading into a large outdoor patio with two bars and an enormous orange-and-white-striped tent overhead.

I was floored. Every single body was plastered with stickers—and the smiling faces were contagious. Truly, it was the happiest place on earth.

A large group of people stood, danced and meandered under the tent, making their ways inside to another pair of bars before exiting again. Whenever a popular song came on, they all cheered and sang along. It was like taking a single, stereotypical bar experience and multiplying it by 10. I was just waiting for Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” to come on and my expectations would have been fulfilled.

Anywhere from 800 to 1,100 people come out to the Boardy Barn every Sunday to party, according to Mr. Shields, from all parts of the island and beyond. I met a 28-year-old high school teacher, who declined to give me his name, who arrived on a bus with 52 other people from some point west.

It’s not uncommon. Many revelers come by bus, train and taxi, knowing they’ll need a safe way to get home. Mr. Shields said the parking lot hardly gets used, since so many people commute together on mass transit.

Like me, Mark Simon, 25, from East Meadow was also enjoying his first time at the Barn, except he was with a large group of friends.

“It’s loud but actually fun,” he said. “It’s a very friendly environment and everyone is so cool and ready to meet people.”

No one is shy. Before I knew it, I had been given nine stickers. They seem to appear out of nowhere, while you walk by strangers or just as soon as you meet someone. To be honest, I felt left out until I was given my first.

But Nancy, who told me she is in her 40s and has been coming to the Boardy Barn since the early 1980s, said the stickers are simply fun, not a measure of someone’s likability or availability.

“It’s an easy way to interact,” she said. “It’s about love. The Boardy Barn allows people to be themselves and to leave real life behind. It’s a place for us to recapture our youth.”

Next to her, Jim, who declined to give his last name, said he’s traveled the world and has yet to find a place like the Boardy Barn. “It’s all about love under the tent,” he said. “There’s not as much love in the room out there as there is here.”

Despite the numerous beer spills on my legs, feet, shoulders and arms, I couldn’t help but smile. Over to my left, a burly man with a bandolier of beer cans greeted his group. To my right, the crowd was going wild over Dexys Midnight Runners’ “Come On Eileen.”

It took me two hours and a near fall on the slippery floor to know I had had enough—my introverted sensibilities properly violated—and I walked out feeling drunk without having had one sip. My head was swimming from the deafening bass, and I was covered in stickers.

Driving away with both my windows down, I could hear Lit’s “Own Worst Enemy” with accompaniment by the Boardy Barn kids, their belting voices fading into the distance.