You know that scene in western movies where the wayfaring stranger enters the saloon, all conversation falls to silence, and every head in the place turns to stare at him? That's Cross Country Brewing, or at least that was my experience of it.
After a long day of driving, me, my girlfriend, and my mother were in the mood for a beer or two, so we jumped when we saw that there was a brewery in town. Glendive, after all, isn't exactly a metropolis with microbreweries at every intersection.
Indeed, Glendive (or at least Cross Country Brewing) fit the stereotype of the hostile small town that doesn't much like outsiders. As soon as the three of us walked in we were greeted with that ominous silence and a blank, "What do you expect from me?" look on the face of the thin, bearded, ballcap'd bar tender. No "Hi" "What can I get for you?" "I recommend our famous..." etc. Nope. We picked our beers from the chalkboard menu, ordered them, he poured 'em, and then pushed them over to us with an empty, emotionless stare.
I didn't get it. We just looked like normal people, not the Addams family. Why the random unfriendly attitudes? It didn't matter how kind or full of smiles we were, it was like our very presence was an insult to the establishment.
Geez, sorry we were trying to give you our money. We promise not to bother you again. read more