While I awaited what turned out to be the wrong sandwich at my favorite sandwichery, the guy ahead of me decided to order more food on top of what he had already ordered, because God forbid he should go a few hours without shoveling shit down his gullet.
JERK: Give me five spanakopitas, please.
COUNTER GIRL: Huh?
JERK: (pretentiously annoyed) Spanakopitas! You know, spinach pies?
Now, keep in mind that the sign clearly reads "Spinach Pies" on the dish. So, it is clear that the guy was simply trying to impress everyone on the planet with his deep knowledge of Greek cuisine. And this ridiculous asshole wasn't Greek or even marginally Mediterranean at all. He was just some insufferable dildo who couldn't help but educate us all on what the spinach pies were ACTUALLY called, like it's a fucking conspiracy or something. Well, guess what? Knowledge is only useful when it helps you get what you want. When the person behind the counter doesn't know what the fuck you're talking about because she knows an item as "spinach pie" when you're calling it "spanakopita" (which sounds vaguely like Spinal Bifida), what's the point of drawing her attention to it? Not only won't she remember its proper name, she'll actively bury it in her head as the snobbish comment from some pedantic prick it is.
On a lighter note, John Ness reminded me of this scene from They Live: