Hillbilly Elegy

meek, barely audible, and very sad.
I gave the woman my credit card,
and she was clearly unprepared.
“Normally, people pay cash,” she
explained. I told her, “Yeah, but like I
said on the phone, I’m going to pay with
a credit card. I can run to an ATM if
you’d prefer.” “Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I
forgot. But it’s okay, we’ve got one of
those machines around here
somewhere.” So she retrieved one of
those ancient card-swiping machines—
the kind that imprints the card’s
information on a yellow slip of paper.
When I handed her the card, her eyes
seemed to plead with me, as if she were
a prisoner in her own life. “Enjoy your