He was standing next to his tanker truck as gasoline flowed from it into the underground storage tanks at the gas station. There apparently was nothing to do but wait, and he stood there looking down at his cell phone underneath the large lettering on the side of his truck: M.J. Murphy Oil Co.
He was an older guy, short and stocky. I parked my car and walked up to him, asking him my question. "Huh?" he said, tilting his head and leaning toward me. I then was staring at what must have been his good ear. "Can I pray for you?" I said, a little louder.
"Sure, you can pray for me," he said. His was a voice that carried, probably because he couldn't hear much. We bowed our heads, and I prayed a short prayer for his safety. "Amen," I said, shaking his hand. He smiled, and we chatted for a little bit. It had been a busy day, sort of. His job is to drive back and forth to the Frontier refinery in El Dorado. Once there, he gets in a line of other trucks waiting for loads of gasoline. He waited for an hour and a half on the first run, an hour and 45 minutes on the next one and two hours on the next.
Only three deliveries that day, which is unusual. And a lot of waiting around. I didn't get to ask him what he does while he's sitting there. But he did say his heater was working in his cab. A few moments later, I left him there, standing by his truck, waiting yet again.
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