I've definitely entered some kind of Linguistic Twilight Zone from which there seems to be no escape.
Today I call the below-mentioned cafe where I bought a loaf of white bread Thursday (the one of quesadilla fame) and a female voice answers.
"Hi, I'm calling to ask whether you have some of the white bread you had there last week?" I ask.
"What are you saying? I can't understand you!" the female voice says, annoyed. "Are you asking about white gloves?"
"Bread! "Bread!" I yell into the phone, unbelieving.
"No," she answers abruptly.
"Thanks," I say without meaning it, and hang up.
I've had enough, though. Next time, I'm asking for an interpreter.
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