I'm not often harassed for my gender, ethnicity, or nationality. But it seems to recur in Polish falafel shops. The men behind the counter recognize me as a foreigner as soon as I walk in. They assume I'm American, so speak English even though I can communicate in Polish. They ask me where I'm from and what I'm doing here. They make jokes, play tricks, show off how clever they are and how stupid I am. They are irritated with me because I don't respond well so they keep pushing it.

And today, they see me coming in and start bowing and continue to bow, and I can only surmise it's because I'm Chinese. They mock my work as an English teacher and say that English is easy; they speak it very well. They grin as I bite my tongue because it's obvious they don't listen very well, since they make Emma and I repeat everything we say three times over. Yet they ignore that we asked, repeatedly, for eggplant in our falafel and look at us as if we're morons when we point out that we ordered it. They don't think we can handle the spicy sauce and decide to give her two kinds and three times the normal amount, while I get nothing at all. They discuss this joke in Arabic and stare pointedly at Emma, whose food is so spicy that snot is dripping from her nose.

Meanwhile, I am wondering why I am here. Why didn't we leave when we sensed, when we walked in, that we shouldn't stay? Why don't I say something? Why don't I fight back? I'm plenty scrappy, with words and volume, at the least. I may be small, but get me in a genuine black hole rage and I will scare you shitless. At the most, I can act like I've lost my damned mind. Why didn't I do that?

Meanwhile, I am wondering if I'm over reacting; if I'm being insensitive to some cultural thing that I'm ignorant of. I'm trying to define who "they" are. "They" have been young Arab men, immigrants who speak Polish, English, and Arabic. I refuse to think that all Arab men will treat me this way, just as I refuse to be put off falafels.

I've been trying to drop it but it makes me angry. Why didn't I do anything? What was I supposed to do? Is it my hair? Should I grow it out? Should I grow a tougher skin? Should I not have yellow skin? Should I stop obsessing about all the things I could have said or done? Should I stop wanting to boil their heads in oil?  

What the fuck? Women are harassed; I will be harassed again, here, elsewhere.  We shoveled down the falafels, those awful falafels, and ran.