Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“Just the two children’s slider plates and the apple juices, please,” she said, her voice dropping as she looked up at the digital screen.
Megan Vance did not look up from her fingernails, which she was tapping against the edge of the register screen in a fast, impatient rhythm. She pressed three buttons with the tip of her pen, her chewing gum snapping loudly in the quiet space between the register and the pie case.
“That will be nine dollars and forty cents,” Megan said, her voice dropping into the flat, rehearsed tone she reserved for customers who did not look like big tippers.
The mother reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn blue debit card, her fingers tracing the faded gold chip before she slid it through the side slot of the terminal reader.
A high-pitched beep sounded from the machine, followed by a double tone that meant the transaction had failed.
“Try it again,” Megan said, her eyes shifting toward the door where a truck driver in a heavy canvas jacket was already lining up behind the mother. “You have to slide it fast or the reader won’t take the strip.”
