of mice and muslims

Coffee with Miss Schwartz.
She's from Poland, married to a German, and spent the last ten years of her working life in France.
"Is there much tension with Muslims in France?" I enquire for my files.
Miss Schwartz nods a tad grimly.
"You see," she said, "they insist that everyone must respect them. But they do not give respect. They intimidate constantly particularly the young male Muslims. On the trains they stare at women. It's lechery but also contempt. They physically intimidate non Muslim males. There is no..."
Suddenly, in mid sentence, she stiffened.
"What is it?" I asked peering at her with that famous look of charmed bemusement some of you have come to know and love, playing about my handsome features.
"Those people who just sat down at the table beside us," she rasped in a strangulated voice.
I looked.
A group of diffident looking young men and women had plonked down at the next table.
"So?" wondered I, features handsome and quizzical as before.
"Are they?" whispered she, tense as a pike.
"Are they what?"
"Are they... French?" managed Miss Schwartz.
She hissed the final word with a depth of emotion it is difficult to convey.
Realisation dawned.
"You hate the French?" I probed.
"I despise them," quoth she.
"You can't hate the French. You can find them irritating. Or snobby. But what's to hate?"
"Try working with them for ten years," shot back she.
The noble Heelers sat back in his chair and laughed long and loud and hearty.
Whatever about racial tensions with Muslims (over their ongoing war with humanity), racial tensions with the French was a new on on me.
And she's Polish.
And married to a German.
That must be some household.
"Hoo baby," I told her wiping my eyes. "That's the best one yet. Those people are Italians by the way. Any problems with the Eye Ties?"
"None," smiled Miss Schwartz coolly sipping her coffee.
She seemed relieved about something.