Wen to the Denver Central Market to pick up some snacks before dinner.  There were some nice baguettes in a basket at a sandwich place. We bought some cheese and crackers and I asked what the price was, since they weren’t marked.

“We can’t sell them,” I was informed.  Seems they just sell sandwiches and the bakery on the other side of the market could sell me some bread.  Except I had just been there and they were out of baguettes.  It was 5:30 pm, surely I could buy one of the dozen or so baguette they had prominently displayed.

No way.  There was some sort of strict non-compete clause.  Perhaps they were concerned that some sort of trade war would erupt, with the bakery selling sandwiches.  So I went back to the bakery and bought four cibatta rolls, which didn’t really interest me.

The more I thought about it the more agitated I became.  I told my wife and daughter I was going back to try and negotiate for some French Bread.  Perhaps barter using the cibatta.

The bearded young hipster who I bought the cheese and crackrs from earlier had left (in fact, I saw him heading toward the bakery, though it could have just been the bathroom, I suppose).  I presented my dilemma o the woman behind the counter and made a simple proposition: cibatta for a baguette.  She seemed to blush and quickly offered to just give me some already sliced bread.  She slid open a drawer with maybe another dozen halved baguettes.  I felt a bit guilty.  I quickly took one, stuffed it into my bag, made sure nobody was watching, and stuffed two dollars into the tip jar.  I thanked her, but she ignored me.  I showed it to my wife and daughter who laughed and we headed back home for a snack.