One of our friends has an adult son named George. George has a very broad Yorkshire accent and tends to talk quickly in a deep, mumbling voice, so it is sometimes difficult to understand what he is saying—even for his mum.
This week, George went to the supermarket to buy some beer. While he was standing in the queue, a bossy posh woman behind him asked him to pass her one of little signs they use to separate different people's items on the conveyor-belt. George wasn't at the front of the queue, so the signs were well out of his reach.
"I'm sorry, I can't reach them," said George.
"Honestly!" exclaimed the woman to the people behind her in the queue. "These foreigners are so rude!" Evidently, she had mistaken George's accent for Polish.
Having paid for his beer, George made a point of thanking the girl on the till in the poshest voice he could muster.