I asked the woman in front of me, as if she might know Arizmendi's payment policy.
"I don't remember." She said, refusing to make eye contact. Somehow, this sent me into a panic. I had pulled the bread from the display case, touching it and in effect, making it technically either mine or garbage. I had no cash and no way of quickly getting rid of the flatbread. I couldn't put it back in the case. I couldn't slam it on the counter and run. I had to hand it over.
"You don't take credit cards, do you?"
"No." The baker smiled. "I can hold that for you while you go get cash."
"Oh, thanks!" I gushed. "I'll be right back."
I looked at the line behind me, handed over my flatbread and went to Jamba Juice. I feel really bad about it, tho. I swear...