Market Street in downtown Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
Bob told us that, among other things, Portsmouth was famous for its micro breweries. We headed for the Portsmouth Brewery on Market Street to taste some of the local beer. The main restaurant and bar was filled to the brim, so we ducked downstairs to the smaller bar where we found a few empty stools and ordered a few half-pints and a small plate of appetizers.
The sign outside the Portsmouth Brewery. Great beer!
The beer and the food were great, but what happened next was even better. Without thinking about it, I was wearing a baseball cap. A New York Yankees baseball cap that I've had for years. And, while it hadn't occurred to me, I was wearing it in Boston Red Sox territory. Uh-oh.
The bar manager, a young and rather burly guy, noticed and said, "You've got a lot of courage to wear that in here." I thought I was in serious trouble. He wouldn't hit an old guy in glasses, would he?
"Well," I said, "I'm from upstate New York." As if that would somehow make everything all right. "I didn't even realize I was wearing it."
"It's ok," the manager replied, "I'm a New Yorker, too, from down in the Hudson Valley." We were practically neighbors. "And just for that," he continued, "I'm going to comp your beer."
I cracked back, "And then you'll probably throw it in my face." Smiles all around. The manager laughed and disappeared into the back room. We didn't see him again.
But when the bill came, all three of our beers were free. We paid for the food and gave the waitress a very nice tip.