I approach the deli counter at our local grocery store (which is, admittedly, in Nebraska), after having hunted in vain through their display cases.

Me: “Excuse me, do you have any lox?”

Guy: “Uh.”

Me: “You know, lox, like for bagels.”

Guy: “Do you mean, um, like padlocks?”

Me: “Whu?”

Guy: “Um.”

Me: “No, like smoked salmon.”

Guy: “Huh, well, um,” he looks at his displays hopelessly, “Maybe you should try the meat counter,” he gestures over to the land of pork, beef, and chicken (and pale, undernourished seafood).”

Me: “Okay, thanks.”