A couple are checking in with me at the airport.

Guy: *Handing me their passports.* “Yeah, we’re going to Bali.”

Me: “Oh, how nice!”

The guy then looks up and down the check-in area and leans in to whisper.

Guy: “Yeah, Sydney is getting waaaay too Muslim lately, so we needed a break from it, know what I mean?”

Me: “…riiiight.”

Guy: “We noticed you were the only Australian doing check-ins today, so we let some people go ahead of us so that we could get checked in by you.”

Me: “Well, all of my colleagues are more than capable of—”

Guy: “—yeah, yeah, DEI and all that. You know what we mean.”

I thought being anti-DEI was an American thing, but oh well…

Me: “Anyway, here are your boarding passes. Please enjoy your flight to Bali, Indonesia, the country with the largest Muslim population in the world!”

Guy: “The what?!”

I’m knowledgeable enough that I know Bali is the only Indonesian province that’s more Hindu than Muslim, but I also know that most racists are stupid by default, so I wasn’t expecting him to know that.

I’m a customer in a retail store. I’m signing up for the store’s membership card, so I’m at the customer service desk long enough to overhear another customer service rep on the phone to another customer.

Customer Service Rep: “No, ma’am, the whistling sound is normal; nothing to be worried about.”

Pause.

Customer Service Rep: “I suppose it could sound like a crying child, but that sounds like an opinion more than anything else.”

Pause.

Customer Service Rep: “I mean, if you’re getting a priest involved anyway, you could try holy water?”

Pause.

Customer Service Rep: “Yes, yes, I suppose it’s for the best. Bring it in, and we’ll get you a new one.”

He hangs up, and I feel compelled to ask:

Me: “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business, but what was that about?”

Customer Service Rep: “A customer was convinced that the kettle she got from us was haunted by the spirit of a dead child, even though to me it was just the sound of the water boiling and whistling through the spout. She bought an old novelty kettle that was supposed to whistle! It’s like its thing!”

Me: “And the holy water?”

Customer Service Rep: “Oh, you heard that part? Huh, well, she said she was already consulting her priest, but wanted to know our return policy. I said maybe the priest could fill it with holy water, but she didn’t like that because she was scared turning it on would “boil away all the Jesus,” so I said that’s fair, best bring it in for a return.”

Me: “Wow, the stuff you guys have to deal with.”

Customer Service Rep: “At least she was polite. Plus, it’s gonna be hilarious when I fill out the return form and get to the ‘reason for return’ part.”

I work in a hotel in Bangkok, Thailand. I’m Thai, but was born in the USA, and while all of the concierge staff are perfectly fluent in English, I’m usually the one who’s assigned to help our more ‘interesting’ guests.

A woman in flowing white linen pants and sandals drifts up to the concierge desk. I remember checking her in less than half an hour ago. I remembered her as she didn’t stop mentioning that she’s a Buddhist and how enlightened she is, and that she’s here to similarly enlighten all those around her.

Customer: “Hi. I think there’s negative energy in my room.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Can you explain what you mean?”

Customer: “It’s just… heavy. The vibrations are off. I’m very sensitive to these things. I’m a practicing Buddhist.”

Me: “Is there a problem with the air conditioning? Noise? Smell?”

Customer: “No, no. The room itself is fine. It’s just… spiritually hostile.”

Of course it is. I check the system.

Me: “I do have another room available, but it isn’t the suite you booked. It’s a smaller room on a lower floor, and it faces the interior atrium instead of the city.”

Customer: “Oh, absolutely not. I didn’t fly all the way to Thailand to stare at… walls. I’m a practicing Buddhist, and that’s bad for me.”

Me: “Then the suite you’re in is the only one available tonight.”

Customer: “Why is the hotel so heavily booked?”

I point at the calendar on the counter, which shows it’s the last few days of the local year.

Customer: “Wait. Why does this say the year is 2568?”

Me: “That’s the Buddhist calendar, ma’am. In Thailand, it’s 2568 BE, or Buddhist Era.”

Customer: “That’s… weird.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Anyway, Songkran starts tomorrow.”

Customer: “What’s Songkran?”

Me: “Thai New Year. It’s a big part of the Buddhist calendar.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t really follow the numbers part. I’m more about the philosophy.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

A moment of silence.

Customer: “You know… maybe the negative energy is the city.”

Me: “Possibly, ma’am.”

Customer: “Fine, I’ll stay in the suite. I’ll cleanse it with incense.”

Me: “Of course.”

She leaves.

Coworker: *In Thai.* “Is my English getting worse, or did she fly all the way to Bangkok, claim to be Buddhist, but have no idea that she’s visiting during Songkran?”

Me: *In Thai.* “I’m surprised she didn’t notice that the room prices are double what they normally are.”

Coworker: *Looks at her customer details on my screen.* “Oh, she’s from California. Buddhists from there can be Buddhists because they have all the money to do yoga in the daytime at expensive gyms and drink $20 jasmine teas. She can afford to stay here.”

We both smile (a little pained smile) at each other and go back to checking guests in, most of whom know they’re here for Songkran and didn’t try to claim our room’s auras were evil.

On Sundays at my convenience store, an older, Baptist church-going, all dressed up in her brightly-colored dress and audacious hat-wearing woman, will come in and angrily, quickly, demand to speak to my manager.

Manager: “Hello again, ma’am.”

Customer: “Your idiot here won’t let me—”

Manager: “—Won’t sell you a roll of our quarters from our change safe. Like I tell you every Sunday, ma’am, those are limited in supply, and we don’t make change to customers like that. I keep reminding you to go to a bank during the week.”

Customer: “But I need them on Sundays! It’s to give to Jesus! What would Jesus say if he were here right now?!”

Manager: “Get the f*** out?”

Customer: *Gasps.*

Manager: “Oh, sorry. Is it more like ‘Get the f*** out, my child’?”

The customer gasps again, calls us blasphemers, and storms out. That seemed to do the trick as she must have found another convenience store to annoy the following Sunday…

I worked at a store that specialized in women’s clothes, although they sold other stuff.  I was checking one woman out when she said to me:

Customer: “I don’t even know why you have so many Muslim women working in your clothing department, they obviously don’t care about it!”

Me: “What does their religion have to do with their ability to do their job?”

Customer: “You know… with their head scarves!”

Me: “I’m not following.”

Customer: “Oh, don’t be dense! They’re not allowed to dress up or look pretty! Or their men will beat them!”

Me: “Well, all my Muslim coworkers are in very loving relationships, based on when their husbands have come into the store and how happy their kids are. As for the head scarves, did you even look at some of them? They’ve got some of the most beautiful patterns…”

Customer: “Well, maybe, but that’s just their scarves! I don’t know why they’d be willing to work here when they couldn’t possibly help me in choosing a nice strapless summer dress, for example.”

Me: “Well, we’ve discovered that it’s usually only immigrants who are able to work here and put up with some of our customers’ xenophobic beliefs. It takes a lot to deal with that for less than ten bucks an hour.”

Customer: “I’m not xenophobic!”

Me: “Ma’am, you literally just said all Muslim women are in abusive relationships because they’re Muslim. I’d advise you just pay for what you’re holding and leave.”

Customer: *Pays and starts walking out.* “So sad. You’re the only White girl they’ve got working here, so they must have turned you.”

Me: *To her, as she walks out.* “Turned me? They’re not freakin’ vampires!”