We were seated in a restaurant on a hot, humid night in Bali with a large fan covering the few occupied tables. A group of tourists walked in, surveyed the seating and chose to sit on the other side of the restaurant. After a moment they realised the fan wasn’t reaching their table and the polite thing would be to move closer, but no.

One of them got up and moved the whole fan over to their side, directly pointed at them and leaving all the other patrons without airflow. 

After we had finished our meals I approached them and asked if they were from [Specific country].

Tourist: “Yes, did you recognise our accents?”

Me: “No, just noting how rude you were taking the fan for yourselves. Your country has a reputation for rudeness and you were so stereotypical.”

They tried to justify it because they were hot. Yeah mate, so were the rest of us.

(I work in a hotel in Bali, at one of its restaurants. I am assigned to be the host during breakfast time. It’s near closing time, and as always, there are a few Indian people that come in late. I am about to have my break when I have to handle this one particular guest. With guests that don’t speak English, I tend to use simpler — though grammatically faulty — English.)

Guest: *speaks in an Indian language, asking for a drink*

Me: “I’m sorry? Drink?”

Guest: *repeats what he said, making a grand gesture that looks like he’s chugging down a beverage*

(Hot milk comes with the breakfast package, but the guests have to request it.)

Me: “Milk?”

Guest: “Yes!”

Me: “Okay, white or chocolate?”

Guest: “YES!”

Me: *pauses* “Sorry, white or chocolate?”

Guest: “YES!”

Me: “WHITE?!”

Guest: “YES!”

Me: “Okay, hot or cold?”

Guest: “Um, YES!”

Me: *speaks slowly* “Hot. Or. Cold?”

Guest: “YES!”

Me: “Hot plain milk it is, then.”

(I am more amused than anything. A little bit later, I see him by the salad bar pointing at a bottle.)

Guest: *says the word “drink” in his language again*

Me: “Sir, with all due respect, you can’t drink olive oil!”

(I’m Indonesian and I live in an area where there are lots of tourists. Being Bali itself, there are barely any traffic laws enforced and lots of tourists tend to rent out scooters and treat them like toys. I’m turning into my favorite restaurant at a T-junction with no red light and my blinkers on, and today I felt like being extra cautious since the scooter I borrowed is my friend’s. I slow down and see a tourist and her son far away in the opposite direction but as I cross from the other side of the street, I see her actually speed up in her attempt to pass me when clearly there is a hump coming up. It’s rainy season so the roads are wet and of course when she tries to brake while going 40 miles/hour the bike violently slides. I am watching the whole thing since I have already parked my motorbike. Luckily no one was badly hurt.)

Me: “Are you all right, lady?”

Tourist: “This is your fault, you stupid girl! That was an illegal turn!”

Me: “Well, no, that wasn’t illegal. This is a two-way road.”

Tourist: “You apologize and you go pay for my bike!”

Me: “No, you were going too fast on rainy day. I had my blinkers on and clearly about to turn in. I saw you and you were far away.”

Tourist: “I don’t care! I have an international license!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean anything, especially when you drive like that! I’m sorry this happened though. I suggest you go to the mechanics. They’ll fix up the scratches and it’s really cheap. Don’t go to the place where you rented the bike or they’ll make you pay $100.”

Tourist: “So you admit it? It’s your fault!”

Me: “I meant sorry this had to happen to you, not sorry my bad. Lady, I did nothing wrong. In fact I was actually trying to help you out!”

Tourist: “No, this is your fault! You owe me money! YOU OWE ME MONEY!”

(I look at the bike, it’s brand new but with a few scratches because of the crash. While the argument just goes back and forth, her son is clearly huddled under a tree crying and also he was wearing NO helmet while riding on the back with his mother.)

Tourist: “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! WHY DID YOU DO THAT? YOU OWE ME MONEY OR I’LL CALL THE COPS!”

Me: “Lady, go ahead. I’m not worried. But clearly the money seems more important to you than your son who could be injured.”

(She looks at her son who is in shock. She asks him if he’s all right and takes a second to check for any bleeding and then goes back to me.)

Me: “If you’d like I can point you towards the closest hospital or clinic.”

Tourist: “NO! You owe me money! You are just a stupid girl! I’m calling the cops! Give me your address, phone number, and the money!”

Me: “Lady, I have no money! Not on me and certainly not enough in the bank and if I did I wouldn’t give any of it to you! I’ve offered to go to the mechanics with you but I’m not paying a cent for your own negligence! I’m a painter, lady! I’m broke!”

Tourist: “Well, I’m broke, too!”

Me: “Right, you’re so broke you rented a brand new bike during your vacation in Bali. Here let me call the police for you.”

(At this point I decided to call my boyfriend’s mom, a cop who is head of the district we’re in. As I’m calling I began to tear up a bit from all the frustration. I wait on the phone for a good five minutes until the tourist gave up and asked me for my number to show her a good mechanic. And after that full hour of arguing, she didn’t even feel it important enough follow through on the mechanic BECAUSE SHE WAS LATE FOR A MASSAGE!)