About a decade ago I used to live and work on the continent, and for the most part the accommodation there is far superior to what's available here,
but for some reason every time I found myself in a French speaking country, the French snobbery made it thru with the language to some degree.

Now, I was staying at a very nice hotel in Paris central, so obviously as French as you're ever gonna get, and I'd been working a 12 hour shift and weren't too with it in the morning but I managed to dress for breakfast and made my way to the breakfast bar, but I found there's a maitre de in full penguin suit in my way, sleepily I ask in English (too early in my days there to yet manage French) what's up and find myself quite roughly ushered in the opposite direction into a small back room full of fold-up tables set up with a few dry offerings, a couple of hot water tureens and some cutlery. This is not what I'm used to here, these places normally provide a very good breakfast in the buffet style, meats and cereals, juices, the lot, but I'm pressed into a fold-up seat facing some other equally bleary eyed chap in a football shirt.

Slowly it dawns on me after a few strong coffees (instant!) that everyone around me is English. Slowly it then dawns on me that they've got a lot of English football supporters in the hotel and even tho they are presumably paying the same as everyone else, as am I, the staff have decided they'd best separate the filthy English from the rest of their clientele so as to stop us shitting on the tables.

Cue me being VERY fucking vocal to said Maitre De cum Bouncer, as all my first words I learnt in French were excellent swear words and phrases and he got the lot of them, quickly followed by my workmates who caught wind of what was going on.

I was allowed into the main breakfast bar from then on, but TBH, I was very inclined to stay with my fellow countrymen that morning, just to make a point, or possibly try and arrange an uprising, and the arrogant fuckers never apologised to me!
( ..wil, Fri 18 Jan 2008, 15:50, 1 reply)

Similiar, Sort of.
The Radisson Edwardian in Heathrow did exactly the same to a bunch of convention attendees.
For breakfast they set up trestle tables by the swimming pool. Personally I find the stench of chlorine really aids the appetite.
Later on I tried treating myself to a meal int their restaurant and it took ten minutes of arguing before I finally managed to convince them that, yes, I could afford to eat there and knew how to use cutlery.
And the bastards had gone round every single con-goers room and removed the kettles. And somebody else had gone round all the bars, crossed out the booze prices and wrote in new ones (Usually about £2 more expensive.)
£75 a night to be treated like shit. Thanks a bunch. May your kidneys fall out through your arseholes.
(Big D, Fri 18 Jan 2008, 16:43, closed)