Plain?

The scene is a mostly takeout sandwich shop kind of like Subway. Your order is taken at the counter, and the sandwich is made while you watch. It is difficult for an order to get messed up unless neither party is paying attention. While I admit that from time to time I mumble, and, having been raised in the South, my drawl is not understandable by some, I generally have no trouble communicating with the vast majority of people that I speak with.

So you can imagine my surprise and consternation when, one afternoon:

Me: "I’d like a plain number three, white, end piece preferred, no cheese. And BBQ chips. To go."
Clerk: (grabs a wheat roll) "Number three?"
Me: "Yeah. Plain."
Clerk: (holding a wheat roll) "What size?"
Me: "That’s on white, please. Large."
Clerk: (cutting off a small piece of the wheat roll) "Ok."
Me: "Uhhh...I want that on white. End piece if you got it. And a large."
Clerk: "Oh...yeah...sorry. What size?"
Me: "Large."
Clerk: (grabbing a white roll -- with an uncut end still attached) "Ok."
Me: "End piece is preferred."
Clerk: (cutting off a small piece from the roll which is just barely long enough to qualify for a large sandwich, resulting in two pieces of while roll: a small-sized piece and a piece that is only about half as long as the small size although it is the end piece of the original whole roll) "Hmm."
Me: "That’s large, please. Large."
Clerk: "Huh?"
Me: "I want a large number three."
Clerk: "Oh...yeah...sorry." (looks at the two pieces of bread on the counter in front of him, confused) "You said you wanted an end piece?"
Me: "Yeah. End piece is OK. Not required. Picky teenage daughter."
Clerk: (horizontally slices the smaller-than-small-sized piece of white roll -- the piece that has the end on it) "Ok."
Me: "Uh. Excuse me. I want a large number three."
Clerk: "I thought you wanted the end piece."
Me: "I want a large number three. Plain. The end piece is OK, but it is not required."
Clerk: (continues to make the sandwich on the less-than-small-sized end piece) "Ok."
Me: "Uh. Excuse me again. That’s a large number three, please."
Clerk: "I thought you wanted the end piece."
Me: "I want a large number three, plain. Forget about the end piece, OK?"
Clerk: "What do I do with this?"
Me: "What do you do with what?"
Clerk: "What do I do with this end piece?"
Me: "Push it aside. Get a fresh roll of white bread, OK? I want a LARGE number three."
Clerk: "Oh...yeah."
Me: "Picky teenage daughter. She has to have a large, plain sandwich."
Clerk: (cuts off a large sized piece from a fresh, whole white roll) "That’s a large, right?"
Me: "Yes. Large. You got it."
Clerk: "Number three?"
Me: "Yeah. Plain."
Clerk: "What kind of cheese?"
Me: "That’s plain."
Clerk: "What kind of cheese do you want on it?"
Me: "I want it plain, please."
Clerk: "What is that?"
Me: "What is what?"
Clerk: "What is plain?"
Me: "I want a large number three, plain."
Clerk: "What do you mean, plain?"
Me: "Yes, plain."
Clerk: "What do you mean, plain?"
Me: "Just a number three. Plain. Absolutely plain."
Clerk: "I dunno know what you mean."
Me: "I want a large number three, absolutely plain."
Clerk: "I don’t think we have that."
Me: "You can’t make a plain sandwich? I order them here all the time!"
Clerk: "What do you mean, plain? We don’t have plains."
Note that, at this point, the other customers at the counter are visibly amused, one even chuckling out loud. I look at them, and get "What a moron!" looks from them, so I know it’s not just me. The other clerks appear curious about why a customer is raising his voice, but they still appear unaware that anything odd is going on.

Me: "I want a LARGE number THREE, absolutely PLAIN. Can you make one of those for me?"
Clerk: (visibly irritated) "I dunno. What do you mean, plain?"
Me: "PLAIN! Nothing on it!"
Clerk: "Nothing? Just the bread?"
Me: "No. Just a plain number three. Nothing on it at all. No--"
Clerk: (interrupting) "What kind of cheese?"
Me: "No cheese at all! Plain!"
Clerk: (walks away from his station and talks to the manager) "I can’t do this."
Manager: "What’s wrong?"
Clerk: "He won’t tell me what kind of cheese he wants."
Me: "Can I speak to a manager?"
Manager: "Is there a problem?"
Me: "I’m just trying to get a sandwich made."
Clerk: "He keeps talking about some kind of airplane or something."
Manager: "Airplane? What’s his order?"
Clerk: "A large number three airplane...or plane...I dunno what he wants me to do."
Manager: "What did you order?"
Me: "I’d like a number three, plain, on white, preferrably an end piece...no cheese. BBQ potato chips. To go."
Manager: "What was the problem?"
Me: "I have no idea, but it appears from what he said to you that he doesn’t know what the word ’plain’ means."
Manager: "Well, we’ll get you taken care of."
When I get out to the car, my wife and daughter are curious why it took so long. They are the first to hear the story but not the last.