From the street, I could see him -- standing at the front counter of the Park City Subway, his elbows on the counter, his chin cradled in his two hands, just waiting. That's what I call a boring evening. So I hoped to spice it up a little for the guy.
He was about 20 years old and had a sharp, intellectual look to him. He evidently had seen me pull up because he was putting on plastic gloves when I walked in. "Welcome to Subway!" he said. I greeted him and walked over to where he was, asking if I could ask a question. He said OK.
"Can I pray for you?"
He paused. "Excuse me? Come again?"
"I was wondering if I could say a prayer for you."
Another pause, puzzlement on his face. "Uhhhhhh. ... Why?"
I told him I like to pray for someone every day, and I hadn't prayed for anyone yet.
"Well, I guess there's no reason why not," he said, starting to come around to the idea, or at least just to play along. We talked about for just a minute longer. He said he would "honored" if I prayed for him, even right then and that he wouldn't stop me. He kept working on those plastic gloves as I prayed.
And that was it. I thanked him and asked if he'd had a good night. He didn't really answer that. But he did ask if I was going to order a sandwich.
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