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?”
Me: “You know, lox, like for bagels.”
Guy: “Do you mean, um, like padlocks?”
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.”