Fishing for Trousers

Give a man a fish, possibly delicious and upon some kind of table, and he will eat for about 1 minute per unit fish volume, as the saying goes. Give a man half a fish and he will eat for a similar amount of time, including that spent pondering on what you've done with the other half of the whole sea bream for which he paid. If one continues this process then a point is reached at which the man cannot even tell he has any fish, because technically he doesn't - all he has is an atom which happened to be part of a molecule which happened to be part of a protein which happened to be present in the fish before it was diced so very thoroughly. There's also a fairly good chance he won't be leaving a generous tip.

Whilst it is likely that complaints over a lack of fish will be prevalent following this asymptotic meal, it is not so likely that the man, whose hunger is matched only by his anger, will marvel at what he was given - a brick.
The effects of hunger on object identification are well understood. In dire enough circumstances it has been noted that a great many people will mis-identify the clearly inedible kebab as an item of food. In this case, the apparent plate of nothing was in fact a brick. It's the kind of brick from which not only buildings, but the bricks, cement, builder, and most (if not all) Barry Manilow records are made.
Bricks, traditionally speaking, shouldn't be particularly mobile without significant assistance. It's how you can always infer that there was at least an arm of some sort masterminding the flight of that lump of baked clay which careened so carelessly through your patio doors. In addition to their predilection for being static, it's generally accepted that bricks are made of something, as opposed to nothing. A brick made of nothing is a gap, and gaps are what walls are there to prevent.

The problem is that in the realm of quantum physics, tradition is ignored like human rights in one of the friskier third world nations. And where do we find our plated up brick? Making itself at home on quantum physics' sofa with a copy of the radio times, spilling gravy on all of the soft furnishings.

As such, our atom breaks each of these rules for good brickitude with nary of a thought of how quickly it will forgo its next scout badge for construction.
It's not entirely fair, since atoms are made of two main parts whereas your common-or-garden house brick is considered as a single lump of happiness. And it's from here that the problems arise.
In the middle is the main bulk of our fish-meal. It's a pile of neutrons and protons chumming about together as a nucleus and acting like a group of students with no concept of personal space playing strong nuclear-force twister. The remainder of the atom is a number of electrons who whizz around the outside in various rigidly defined orbits without a care in the world. they whizz so much in fact, that rather than being a physical thing in space, it's sometimes more convenient to think of them as a probability distribution of negative charge spread around the entirety of the three-dimensional orbit. The candidacy of our atom for full brickhood is beginning to collapse, since motion at extreme speeds and uncertainty as to where the brick is at any given moment are generally a little taboo when it comes to satisfying building codes. Homeowners like to know that their bathroom door is going to remain in the doorway and not trundle off into the space behind the fridge.
The issue is then compounded by the consideration that the orbitals of these electrons form the boundary of the atom, loosely speaking. So, travelling from one end of the orbit to the other, the diameter of the atom is generally of the order of 0.1 nanometres, or one thousandth of a millionth of a metre. This kind of journey is unlikely to be expensive on the bus. The diameter of the nucleus is typically of the order of 1 femtometre, or a thousandth of a millionth of a millionth of a metre. This is also going to be an economical trip.
The ratio of the volume of the atom compared to that of the nucleus, ends up as approximately 1:10^15, i.e. 1 with 15 0s behind it. i.e. 1:1000000000000000.
The nucleus contains around 99.9% of the mass of the atom. (Oprah Winfrey contains around 99.9% of the mass of the occupants of her studio during recordings).
The upshot of these short holidays and huge (tiny) numbers is that the vast, staggering majority of the atom is not in fact made of something, so much as nothing at all. Everything around you is as close as makes no difference to being entirely gaps. Even if the man had received his whole fish, he would have had only 1 part in a thousand million million of a meal. No matter how many sea bream he orders, his plate will always be empty; just like his wallet if he keeps paying for restaurant meals before they are served.