I used to experience this a lot when I lived in the north (both sides of the Pennines) and went on holiday in more remote parts of Scotland.
I still remember the conversation with an objectionable twat at the car hire place on Lewis about the fact they'd hired us, two women, a car with a knackered back windscreen wiper and his snarky comments about, well, we'd only be needing it for shopping anyway [on LEWIS, I mean, it's not exactly the Metrocentre up there, shopping wise...]. I had to go full on stroppy short Geordie lass complete with my original accent to get him to stop being a twat, and he then went and got his wife, who DID actually run the place, to sort it out...
I encounter it less frequently in the West Country where I've lived for a while, with one exception - building tradesmen.
I HATE dealing with building tradesmen - the huffing, the puffing, the reluctance to quote for jobs, the crap "jokes" when they do deign to take the work, the looking at me as if I'm an eejit, when I'm almost always the one actually paying. It's times like that I really miss having my strapping Geordie male relatives on hand to intercede, preferably in full Newcastle kit...