It is very common in blocks of flats in Zurich that the flats share laundry facilities. I am a Brit living in Switzerland, living in a flatshare that is very culturally diverse.

It is the morning after I have done the laundry and I am eating breakfast just before heading to work. It’s about eight when the doorbell rings. I think it is the postman, and I am trying to get an answer on the intercom downstairs when there is a knock on the door to the flat.

Standing outside is the crazy lady. Every block of flats will have one of these: too nosy for her own good and very controlling.

Neighbour: “Did you use the washing machine last night?”

Me: “Yes.”

Neighbour: “You left it in a mess! You need to clean up after yourself!”

She rants for a bit and I listen politely.

Me: “I will be more careful in the future.”

This is where it gets interesting.

She then starts going on about how the immigrants in the flat keep making a mess of things, including the “dirty Tamils” (by which she means the lovely Indian family on the floor below). Very uncomfortable at this stage, I try to extricate myself — I do need to leave soon for my train — but she keeps ranting on, and as she is standing in the doorway I can’t just close it. My boyfriend appears at this point wondering why I have been at the door for so long.

At some point, she notices my accent.

Neighbour: “Where are you from?”

Me: “The UK.”

She tries to backpedal.

Neighbour: “Oh, I am not talking about all immigrants, just the ones from outside Europe.”

She then notices my boyfriend.

Neighbour: “And where are you from?”

Boyfriend: “Brazil.”

She then goes on a rant about how dangerous Brazil is and how I must be glad the UK is so safe. My German flatmate pops his head round the door at this point to also ask what is going on. Suddenly, the lady realises she has insinuated that my boyfriend is one of these “bad immigrants” and backtracks further.

Neighbour: “Oh, I didn’t mean all non-European immigrants, just the ones from China.”

With perfect timing, my flatmate’s Chinese girlfriend appeared just as the lady finished her sentence. Looking at all these foreign faces, the lady realised the GIANT hole she had dug for herself. And without another word, she just turned on her heel and walked downstairs. I managed to close the door before everyone there burst out laughing at her stupidity and racism.

The punchline of the whole story? [Neighbour] isn’t even Swiss; she is a German immigrant. Sadly, she didn’t learn her lesson and later posted some quite racist remarks next to the lift. We reported her to the landlord and the police. From what I understand, she is on a warning, and if she pulls a stunt like this again, she will be chucked out for harassment with possible police involvement.

I used to volunteer with my township’s all-volunteer first-aid squad. One day, we got a call to respond to a woman who had fallen on the second floor of her apartment and could not get back up. She was alone in the apartment. The complex was comprised of about sixty units. We arrived along with a police officer, which was standard practice for the township.

We located the apartment. Since we did not want to break anything to get in if possible, we started checking doors and windows, hoping something was open through which one of us could climb. There was nothing. We checked the back and considered climbing to the second-story balcony, but there was nothing to use for hand- and footholds. Since the woman was stable and still on the phone with 911, we spent a good ten minutes walking around and around the apartment building, desperately trying to find a reasonable way to get inside. It was then that a neighbor came to us.

Neighbor: “Is [Patient] okay?”

Me: “She’s called 911. We can’t find a way in without breaking a window. Do you know if a neighbor or a nearby relative has a key?”

Neighbor: “Well, actually, I happen to know that every key in the complex works on every door. They’re all the same.”

Cop: “What?!”

Neighbor: “Yes. Let me go get my key. You’ll be able to get into her apartment.”

I just shook my head in disbelief.

The neighbor got her key and, sure enough, we were able to access the patient without breaking anything. My partner, the cop, and I agreed to never mention this to anyone. It blew my mind that such a thing was allowed to happen. When someone moved out and a new tenant moved in, obviously, the lock was not changed. The new tenant would have simply been given the same. Old. Key.

I am a leasing agent at a senior apartment complex. I contributed to a breast cancer research fund and received a pink ribbon pin, which we are allowed to wear. My current applicant has been huffing and tutting as she fills out paperwork, and she makes a point of never looking me in the eye. When we are finished, she tries a parting shot.

Applicant: “You know, I had breast cancer, too, but I don’t advertise it.”

Me: *With a big smile* “I haven’t had it, thankfully, but my cousin died from it, so I do what I can to raise awareness.”

She turned a few shades of red, grabbed her paperwork, and hurried off.

I work as a leasing agent for an apartment complex. The owner is a fantastic guy, but he is always super late to every meeting and never has any keys to the building on him. One day, he needs to come by and pick up some tax stuff, but naturally, he is running really late and my manager can’t stay to wait for him, so I’m waiting for him after hours with the door unlocked when a car pulls up and two people get out.

I’m at the front desk, so immediately I let them know that we’re actually closed, but the lady cuts me off and demands to see an apartment right now. That’s not how it works here. As I explain to her, I can’t ever show an apartment without someone in the office (safety), and we’re actually completely out of apartments to lease.

The lady stares me down and insists that we definitely do have apartments available and that I will show her one right now. Nope. I don’t budge. I can’t; we don’t have apartments and I can’t leave the office anyway.

So, the lady tells me, in the most condescending way possible, that the owner is one of her best friends, he has promised her an apartment, and if I don’t show her one right now she’ll have my job.

And guess who pulls up right at that moment?

The owner. I swear I could hear the cosmic laughter.

I look at the owner’s brand-new best friend, smile as big as I can, and chirp, “Oh, what good luck! That’s the owner right there! We can ask him about that apartment he promised you and get it all cleared up!”

She looks outside, looks back at me, and bolts out of the office.

The owner comes in and asks about her, so I tell him that she is one of his best friends, obviously. He just chuckles and tells me that he’d never promise an apartment to anyone without telling us first. And that he’s never seen that lady before in his life.

I have a close friend who is black move into my apartment. Shortly thereafter, I spend three weeks downstate for work-related purposes.

As I am making my way down the apartment hallway, I run into an elderly neighbor who is well known for stirring up trouble and constantly complaining. For instance, she once called the police on a trio of second-grade girls who were selling Girl Scout cookies door-to-door and apparently did not see or understand a posted “No Soliciting” sign.

Neighbor: “Does that black girl live in that apartment with you?”

Me: “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes — and yes, she is on the lease, so don’t even bother trying to report her because you’ll just be wasting your time.”

Neighbor: “Ho-ho-ho-ho! It’s worse than that! I don’t know where the h*** you’ve been, but that girl has been blasting rap music at all hours of the day, and there have been all kinds of people coming in and out of that apartment — day and night! I’ve already complained to the management, just to let you know!”

Me: *Cold stare* “Really.”

Neighbor: “She’s a rude little s***, too; twice I tried to talk to her when I saw her in the building, trying to ask if she lived there, and she just kept right on walking like she was too good to even look in my direction! Who the h*** does she think she is?”

Me: “Right. That’s because she’s hearing impaired. That’s not to mention she’s a painfully shy introvert who spends her time programming and blogging. So either there is some serious paranormal activity going on in our apartment, or you’re just itching for me to recruit the whole building to mob you out of your apartment — permanently.”

She stares at me for a minute and then starts walking into her apartment.

Neighbor: “I’m keeping my eye on her.”

Me: “I’m sure she’s flattered by all the attention.”