For a few months after graduating high school, I worked for the city cleaning public beach restrooms. One of my coworkers had been born and raised in Mexico and he explained to me about why sometimes people will poop on the floor. He told me once you get out of the touristy areas of Mexico you’ll find places where the sewer lines are so small that pooping in the toilet can back up the entire sewer system, so people never poop in them nor put toilet paper in the toilets. Many people, when they come to America, not knowing that our sewer system is different, continue this habit. Therefore, they’ll poop next to the toilet and put used toilet paper in the trash instead of flushing it. This is why all cleaning vans were equipped with shovels and high-pressure hoses.

Cut to a few years later in an anthropology class I’m taking. We’re talking about culture shock, especially bathroom habits, such as one guy mentioning he used to work with someone who came from a country with squat toilets, so he broke a toilet seat at work by standing on it.

I tell what I was told by my former coworker. Cue every single white person in class calling me racist. Especially white girls. Right away every single student who was born and raised in Mexico came to my defense and said, “No, she’s right. That is how it is down there.” The talk about how they had to work with various relatives to get them to poop in the toilet, not next to it.  

I can only hope that all the white students learned from this that you should maybe learn to not jump to the conclusion of racism just because they want to believe every country has America-like sewer systems.

(It’s 2001. I’m a Hispanic woman in her twenties. Because I have naturally blond hair, people often mistake me for a tanned white lady. I get a phone call from a customer wanting to know if we have a certain item in stock. I put her on hold and call my coworker, Nina, since she knows more about the inventory than I do. She’s a bit hard of hearing, so I have to raise the volume of my voice a little.)

Me: “Hey, Nina!”

Nina: *meekly* “Yeah?”

Me: “Do we have any [popular item] left?”

Nina: “Let me check.”

(She checks the back. While I’m waiting, two African American twin ladies who appear to be in their late teens approach.)

Me: “How can I help you, ladies?”

Teen #1: “Cut the BS, you b****! How dare you say that word?!”

Me: *confused but keeping it together* “What word? If I accidentally said something that offended you, I apologize.”

Teen #2: “Cut the s***, already! You can’t say that thing accidentally!”

Me: “I have to warn you that your continued use of profanity will force security to escort you out.”

Teen #1: “You can’t force us to do anything, you d*** racist!”

Teen #2: “We demand a discount and your a** fired!”

(One of my managers overhears and intervenes.)

Manager: “I’m sure we can solve this in a civilized manner.”

(The two customers keep saying that I used racial slurs and raised my voice. I try telling my side of the story but they keep interrupting me and calling me a white b****.)

Manager: “I really doubt [My Name] would do such a thing, and she’s actually—“

Teen #1: “An entitled, white b****!”

(I’m surprised I haven’t lunged at them by now, since I’m known to have a temper. While they are still shouting, I see an elderly African American man walking toward us with a nice suit. He doesn’t seem very happy.)

Man: “What in the name of the merciful Lord is going on here?!”

Teen #2: “This gold-digging tramp used the N-word out loud!”

Man: *to me* “Is that so, young lady?”

Me: “No! I was just calling for my coworker who is hard of hearing and is named Nina!”

(At this point Nina exits the back room. She is clearly Korean.)

Manager: “That’s her.”

Man: “I see.” *to the teens* “I didn’t spend my youth during the Civil Rights movement so you could act like a pair of entitled brats! Now, apologize to this nice lady and kiss your birthday money goodbye. You clearly don’t deserve it. If it were up to me I would send you job options. Good Heavens, your parents spoiled you rotten!”

Me: “By the way girls, I’m Hispanic. My advice to you is to stay in school and clean your ears.”

(The girls apologized. The grandfather laughed and dragged the girls out by their ears, after he bought a nice suit for church. After Nina told me we had the item, I resumed the call from earlier.)

(I work in a UK clothing store that sells fairly expensive but good-quality clothing, and I recently encountered one of the weirdest days. A shopper, in her thirties I’d say, with a walking stick, comes up to me at the service desk.)

Shopper: “I’m really sorry to bother you but I need some help. There’s a lady in the store who has been following me around and telling me to leave now. I’ve not done anything wrong, I hope.”

Me: “Is she a member of staff?”

Shopper: “No, she’s not wearing your uniforms or name tags, and she’s got a coat on and seems to be shopping. She just keeps following me, and it’s kind of scaring me now.”

(I see a lady coming straight for the desk, pointing at the woman I’m talking to.)

Rude Lady: “You! You! I told you to leave!”

Shopper: “That’s her. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”

Rude Lady: “You!” *pointing at me now* “Get this out of the store!”

Me: “Okay, what is the problem? Has something happened?”

Rude Lady: “Are you blind?! Have you seen her? It’s revolting!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t see the problem. She looks perfectly fine to me.”

Rude Lady: “You are stupid. This is an expensive shop, yes? For beautiful people. Fat cripples don’t belong in here.”

(The first shopper looks like she’s going to cry. I honestly think she looks better than this rude woman. She does weigh more than this rude woman, but that’s no indicator of beauty or lack of.)

Me: “We welcome all shoppers, providing they have good manners and behave well in the store. I’m not throwing people out just because you don’t like the look of them.”

Rude Lady: “Right, well, your manager will be hearing of this. I’m sure once I say you’ve let disgusting, fat tramps in the store and lost all my business in the process, you’ll be looking for another job.” *turns to the original shopper* “And you! I’d better never see you again in any of my stores. You chose to be fat, so you chose to look revolting.”

(The rude lady stormed out, and I spent the next ten minutes reassuring the poor shopper that not only would she not be thrown out of the store, but that the rude lady was now banned from here and we’d have the video footage to back up why.)

(I am a white woman. I am buying a brand of corn chip that comes with each chip rolled into a little tube, usually bright red, and touted as being very spicy. The guy behind the register is an older, white dude.)

Employee: *examining bag* “Can you eat these?”

Me: *assuming he’s referring to the spicy warning on the bag* “Oh, I don’t think they’re too spicy. I’m not even a spicy fiend and I think these are good. You should try them sometime.”

Employee: “No, I mean, I thought this was supposed to be for the Hispanics.”

Me: *taken aback* “Uh… Well, I mean, I don’t think it’s ‘for’ anyone specifically.”

(He gives me a dubious look.)

Me: *after a pause* “I can eat them, too.”

(He didn’t say anything else, but he looked very skeptical. It was so weird. I told a friend of mine about it later, who IS Hispanic, and she thought it was hilarious. Now, whenever we go out somewhere together and she’s coveting whatever food I’ve ordered, no matter what it is, she’ll act like she’s taking it away while saying sadly, “I’m sorry, [My Name], but this isn’t FOR you. It’s for Hispanics.”)

In the Netherlands, we have intersections without traffic lights or traffic signs regulating the right of way. On these intersections, the rule is that the driver coming from your right-hand side has priority.

I’m a white male. I have been a driving instructor for ten years, so I think it’s safe to say that I do know a bit about traffic rules and traffic laws. I nearly get into an accident because a car coming from the left-hand side almost hits my car. The driver manages to stop with screaming tires.

A black, young woman immediately gets out of the car and starts swearing and cursing. I tell her that she needs to calm herself because she is in the wrong for not giving me right of way.

This may have not been the wisest thing to say, because she becomes more irate and starts yelling louder, calling me a racist, and screaming that I am discriminating against her.

That makes me laugh, so she calls the police.

Long story short: the police come and are mildly amused by her discrimination charges, but less amused when it turns out that she has let her insurance road tax and annual car check lapse and she is driving with a suspended license. And thus, the police officers become racists and are discriminating against her.

At least, that’s what she screams as they take her to the police station.