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’m sitting on a bus, in a seat near the middle. It’s at the very beginning of its route, so it hasn’t left the transit loop yet. The only other passenger is an older white man who’s dishevelled and stinks of beer, sitting near the front.

A young, pretty Asian woman gets on and sits down a few seats away from the man. She takes out her phone and starts looking at it, and the man swivels in his seat and leers at her.

Passenger: “Hey, girlie!”

I can’t see her face from where I am, but I can see her shoulders tighten and she holds her phone higher.

Passenger: “Hey! D’ya speak English? You wanna learn some? I’ll teach ya! Come sit next to me!”

I’m wondering what I should do, when the bus driver calls from his seat.

Driver: “Sir, please do not bother the other passengers.”

Passenger: “Mind your own business.”

The driver gets up and stands in front of the man. 

Driver: “Sir, the safety and comfort of the passengers is my business.”

The man starts laughing. 

Passenger: “What, you want her for yourself, huh? What, you think she’d be interested in you, you [racial slur]?”

This statement is so outrageous that I actually snort. Even apart from the racism, the driver is a quite handsome young man, tall and athletic; his uniform and turban are clean and neat, and his beard is well-groomed. The contrast between him and the slovenly, drunken older man couldn’t be starker.

Driver: “I must ask you to get off the bus now.”

I’m briefly worried that the man will get even more belligerent, but in the face of direct confrontation, he backs down and gets off, still grumbling. While he’s getting off, I move to sit across the aisle from the woman.

Me: “Are you all right?”

Although she’s obviously very embarrassed, she nods, and then she looks at the driver.

Woman: “Thank you. I was a little afraid.”

Driver: “No problem, miss. Besides, if my mother and my wife found out I let a man talk to a woman like that, they would never let me hear the end of it.”

During a busy shift, at which time we only have one person working per shift due to the health crisis, I have a long and steady line of customers. One woman comes in, orders two coffees for her boyfriend and herself, pays, and leaves. All good. I continue to wait on more customers.

Ten minutes later, her boyfriend comes rushing in (without a mask) and interrupts me while I’m helping another customer to tell me that his girlfriend may have left her wallet here.

I tell him I haven’t seen it and the only possible place it could have been is on the counter, since customers are not allowed further into the store. I take his phone number just in case it turns up later.

Thirty minutes later, the girlfriend comes barging in, insisting that she left her wallet here. Again, I tell her I haven’t seen it, but we have her phone number just in case we find it. She then accuses another customer of taking it.

Customer: “Well, what’s the name of that construction worker who comes in here?”

I’m confused and not quite sure to whom she’s referring.

Me: “I’m sorry? Construction worker?”

Customer: “Yeah, the guy that was in here right after me. I had my wallet. I placed it on the table and now it’s gone! Do you know that guy’s name?”

It then clicks. The guy who came in after her was indeed dressed in work clothes and probably in the crew working on the road nearby. He also happened to be the only black customer all morning. Unfortunately, this neighborhood is often unfriendly and suspicious towards people who are A, not white, B, foreign, and/or C, not rich.

Me: “Um… no. Maybe you should try retracing your steps? There’s not much else we can do other than taking your phone number and calling you if it turns up.”

She probably just misplaced it. But seriously, it is not the business’s responsibility to keep track of your personal belongings, especially when there’s only one employee working and there’s a line of customers wrapped around the building.

I am writing out two distinct forms for two different families looking to borrow vehicles for road trips. As it is the start of the summer, many families tend to come in on one day. The two vehicles in question are very similar in color and make, so it becomes difficult to tell them apart. I have just spent a few minutes with the heads of said families at the desk as I work out who is borrowing which vehicle, complete with mixing up the keys.

Me: *Addressing [Customer #1]* “So, the one you wanted is the [1986 Make], not the [1988 Make]?”

Customer #1: *Laughing in relief* “Yes, that’s the right one!”

Me: “Finally! Well, I hope you are both sorted. I just have to record that the [1986 Make] is the right one!”

Both [Customer #1] and [Customer #2] walk off in different directions. As I write their surnames onto pictures of the particular vehicles, [Customer #3] comes up.

Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

Customer #3: *In a calm voice* “How dare you?”

Me: *Confused* “How dare I… what?”

Customer #3: “You know very well, you racist b****!”

He snatches up the photographs and the documentation paperclipped to them as I try to stop him. He approaches [Customer #2]. I start to worry that he might have personal information, so I get up out of my seat to follow him.

Customer #3: *To [Customer #2]* “I am sorry about what this woman has written here.”

Customer #2: *Trying to work out the problem* “What has she written?”

Customer #3: “That racist taunt at the top of the paper! See?”

He almost shoves it in the other customer’s face. I suddenly realize what conclusion [Customer #3] has jumped to. [Customer #1] and his family were a white family with the surname “White,” and [Customer #2] and his family are Chinese and have the surname “Wong.”

Me: “I—”

Customer #3: “No, listen to me! You can not call your customers that! I heard you when you told that other family you’d give them the ‘right’ car!” *To [Customer #2]* “I am very sorry for this woman and if you want me to do so, I will get the manager on your behalf.”

Customer #2: “My name is Wong. [Customer #2] Wong. And my family is waiting outside.”

[Customer #3] went very red. He shoved the papers back at me and stormed out of the building.

I am in rural Indiana (where I do not live) for a family reunion. There are many people there and not enough groceries, so I end up being the one to pick up a few gallons of milk at a local convenience store. As I am checking out, an older woman comes up to me and starts to make small talk. Normally, this would bother me, but I decide to be polite. The very awkward conversation goes as follows.

Customer: “I’m sorry, hun, but could you try a different accent?”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Ooh! Maybe you could do a Southern accent. Those are very charming.”

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Customer: “Well, I find the New Jersey accent you seem to be doing to be very off-putting. It’s aggressive, and honestly, not a very good impression.”

Me: *Very tired and slightly offended* “Not a good impression? What the heck are you talking about?”

She’s obviously very religious, so I don’t want to push her over the edge by saying, “h***.”

Customer: *Very condescendingly* “Well, of course, I know that New Jersey accents were made up by TV to make things more dramatic and such, but that still wasn’t very convincing! It was far too strong. Now, why don’t you try something else?”

I was very confused, so I just paid for the milk without responding — the cashier was barely able to keep from laughing — and walked back to my car, which had a very obvious New Jersey license plate, talking to myself in my 100% real New Jersey accent, and trying to figure out what she meant by “made up by TV”.