The other day, I needed to use a restroom and went into the nearest building – an Italian restaurant selling pizzas. I asked one of the waiters if I could use their restroom.

“Hmm,” he replied, considering. “We usually only serve customers, but sure thing, Chinaman.”

I laughed and thanked him, but suddenly a stern voice cut through the air:

“Isn’t that racist?”

I turned to see a middle-aged white woman in a pink hat glaring at the waiter. “You can’t call people that,” she continued. “This is the twenty-first century.”

I stood bewildered. The term hadn’t bothered me at all – so why was this stranger jumping in to claim offence on my behalf? Was this what people called the “white saviour complex”?

By now, other diners were turning and noticing. The waiter shifted uncomfortably. I quickly tried to defuse the situation, explaining that I wasn’t offended and thanking her for her concern. Though she returned to her seat, she shot another disapproving look at the waiter.

While I appreciate people standing up against racism, this felt like a strange case of someone being more offended on my behalf than I was myself.