Spending the night in a small town, I booked a room while charging at the station. When I arrived, there was only one person at the front desk—a middle-aged Indian man (a real middle-aged man, probably around 60)—whose attitude was neither warm nor cold.

After taking the room key and heading to the room, I saw it was a king-sized bed room. I had booked a twin bed room, so I had to go back and ask him to check again and change it.
To my surprise, he refused to change it no matter what. I repeatedly told him to check the order again, but he insisted that the order he received was for a king-sized bed and that there were no rooms available. He said I could either pay extra for a bed or leave it as is. I didn’t want to fuss at night, so I reluctantly agreed to add a bed.
It seemed he didn’t know how to operate in the system, so he called a young Hispanic guy over. The guy looked at it and told me, “You booked a twin bed, he made a mistake. I’ll change it to a twin bed for you. Sorry about that.” He was looking at someone else’s reservation, which had a similar surname to mine.
After changing the room key, the Indian man apologized to me. I verbally accepted, but internally my impression of Indians took another hit.