"What's an Egg Sandwich?" I asked the cook.
"Eggs on a biscuit," he replied.
When I got to the register, I flipped open my to-go box and told the girl (let's call her "Matilda") that I had an Egg Sandwich.
Matilda rang up $2.50. "Your eggs are next to the biscuit," she said. With a straight face. "That's not an Egg Sandwich,"
I smiled. "Seriously?"
"Your eggs have to be on the biscuit to be a sandwich," Matilda said, confidently.
I tried to reason with her. "It takes more work to make an Egg Sandwich than to place the eggs next to the biscuit."
Matilda shook her head. "$2.50, please."
"You have to cut the biscuit in half and put the egg on it." I said, in case she didn't understand the engineering involved in making Egg Sandwiches.
Matilda just stared at me, with a know-it-all look on her face.
I attempted to wear her down.
"Cutting a biscuit in half takes significantly more effort than putting eggs on the plate next to the biscuit." I felt certain that she would come to her senses.
But Matilda would not budge. "That will be $2.50 for your eggs and biscuit." Then she smirked.
So I grabbed a knife, cut my biscuit in half and made myself a stinkin' Egg Sandwich.
Matilda studied my creation for a long moment.
"That will be $1.50."
It was a small, but meaningful victory.
Egg-actly what I needed.