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.