I used to joke that Boston has, pound for pound, the meanest people on the planet.

Oh how wrong I was.

K and I went to a conference in Nashua, New Hampshire this weekend. As one does when one is away from home, we went out for margaritas last night after the last meeting. Went to a place the cabdriver recommended. In my young life, I've had a lot of margaritas, and this was not a margarita. This was lighter fluid on ice with a splash of Rose's lime juice for color. If that wasn't enough, the manager came over to our table to bring us the bill to tell us that our waitress, poor Emily, had been working all day and were we ready to go yet?

So we went back to the hotel bar, where the bartender thought we'd had enough before we even ordered. She brought us one round, and no amount of eye contact could get her to come back over and bring us another. IT'S A HOTEL BAR! This is where people go when they WANT to get tanked. And it's not like she had to worry about us staggering out to the car and driving anywhere.

This afternoon, we went to downtown Nashua, and pulled into a parking space. As we're getting out of the car, the woman in the Sport Utility Assault Vehicle behind us comes over and yells at me that where we're parked isn't a legal space (sorry-- didn't see the sign) and she couldn't get out (then don't drive a vehicle the size of Kansas, because, really, a Beetle shouldn't present you with a problem).

Trying to have lunch, we seated ourselves because we weren't familiar with the place, and there wasn't a hostess that we could see. So then we couldn't get anyone to bring us a menu because we'd broken this protocol. Finally the nice Irish waitress brought us drinks and food and a little shred of friendliness. The local yarn shop, while having a comprehensive stock, was poorly lit and lacked warmth of any kind.

I've never seen people so eager not to take my money.

Could have been worse.

At least it wasn't Manchester.