“No?” says the man behind the Plexiglas. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” “I mean... I’m asking, doesn’t it work?” “I just told you, it’s broken!”
The man behind the Plexiglas looks dubious. “Maybe there’s something wrong with your card? Some dirt on the magnetic strip?” he suggests.
Ove looks as if the man behind the Plexiglas had just raised the possibility of Ove having erectile dysfunction.
The man behind the Plexiglas goes silent. “There’s no dirt on my magnetic strip, you can be sure of that,” Ove splutters.
The man behind the Plexiglas nods. Then changes his mind and shakes his head, explaining that the machine “actually worked earlier in the day.”
Ove dismisses this as utterly irrelevant, of course, because it is clearly broken now.
The man behind the Plexiglas wonders if Ove has cash instead. Ove replies that this is none of his bloody business.
A tense silence settles. At long last the man behind the Plexiglas asks if he can “check out the card.”
Ove looks at him as if they just met in a dark alley and he’s asked to “check out” Ove’s private parts.
“Don’t try anything,” Ove warns as he hesitantly pushes it under the window.
The man behind the Plexiglas grabs the card and rubs it against his leg in a vigorous manner.
As if Ove had never read in the newspaper about that thing they call “skimming.” As if Ove was an idiot.
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