If I ask for jalapeños somewhere, I should never get those disgusting pickled rings of bland mush.

If you were to tell someone to go buy a cucumber, and they come back with a pickle, you’d rightfully be irritated. If the salad said it had cucumbers and you end up with pickle slices, you’d be revolted. If you said you wanted cabbage on the sandwich, and they put sauerkraut underneath your aioli, you’d be rightfully pissed.

And if I pick the jalapeño add-in option on a website, write it down on the grocery list, or god forbid see it as part of the description of a food, I shouldn’t get the half-rotted, piss-soaked, completely-devoid-of-spicy-except-for-the-acid-of-the-pickling-juice excuse for a pepper slice that some asshole out there decided was a decent way to sell his old peppers.

We don’t call pickles (gherkins, whatever) cucumbers. We don’t call sauerkraut cabbage.