Working in touristy areas like Gastown, Granville Island and the Quay, I've seen some beauts. The French woman who loudly and Frenchly slagged everything in the store before buying the hideous and hideously overpriced sweater known to the staff as "the Dead Ostrich." We ventured an "Au revoir!" and suggestions for local restaurants all in fluent French as we were packing up her loathesome electric blue monstrosity. She couldn't leave without it, so she had to stand there realizing we'd understood every word she'd said.
There were also the obnoxious Germans, and the Saudis who seem to think they carry a little bubble of the Kingdom around with them…but mostly, there were the Americans.
Someone once asked me why we never saw any polite, quiet Americans, and I replied that we did, but we just mistook them for Canadians. We grew tired of answering, "Why are all your prices in Canadian dollars?" and "Why does your money come in different colours?" and "It's just the same as Seattle," which I kind of enjoyed hearing because it was the signal for Frances and me to start talking in French. Her French was dreadful, but it was good enough to shut the Americans up.
"Remember," I said to one truly obnoxious fellow, "when you got on the big silver bird [insert hands making plane shadow puppet] you left your country."