Gary, whenever I order food in a restaurant, a chip barm, a toasted sandwich....ANYTHING, I have to in no uncertain terms stress to the waiter/waitress that I will not tolerate butter or marg even being near where my food is being prepared.
You see, if I get a sarnie in the morning in the cafe, I know that previously, they will have used a knife to slice through someone elses sandwich which will be covered in butter, so there will be butter on that knife. I make them use a different knife to slice my buttie, but because I go there every day though, they know about my weirdness when it comes to butter so they're sympathetic, but I get looked at like I'm a freak in other places when I'm explaining this to them that I hate butter.
They're like "What, you just have dry toast?" or "What? No butter? NO BUTTER? ARE YOU MAD?" it infuriates me to be honest, that I'm questioned because I hate the yellow shit, but to me, it's perfectly normal to want the vomit inducing spread as far as possible away from me.
Believe me, you cannot comprehend how much I hate this stuff. Have you ever read 1984, particularly the chapter towards the end where they make the main character Winston go to Room 101? If I was to be damned forever in a hell known as Room 101, put me in an empty room which was full of butter. I would have to go a long way to imagine anything worse than that fate.