When I was a freshman at Utah Valley State College, back in 1991, I worked at a Malt Shoppe in Provo, UT, called Stevenett’s. It is now just, The Malt Shoppe, but you will still see the same faces, just years younger, cruising the place on Friday and Saturday nights.
Well, this one Saturday night when I was working, a really famous visitor decided to grace the place with his existence. I had heard of him and I wanted to marry him just like all of my 5 roommates, but I really had no idea what he looked like.
We were only open until 11PM on Saturdays, because the Sabbath starts at midnight and that would allow all the Mormon workers to get the place clean and home in time. This night, everyone was out on a date or hanging out with friends. The weather was great. It was 12:30 and our line was still out the door. I was frustrated.
So, this guy with outdated muscleman pants, a Jackson Hole baseball cap, and a highschool football T-shirt makes his way to the front of the line. I was working the register and thinking, “Boy, this guy is cute; he just needs some new clothes.” He was friendly; he smiled and asked, “what’s good?” Remember, I just want to go home and I am sick of these customers. I said, “I don’t know, you have been standing in line for at least a half an hour, have you not had a chance to figure it out?” He was taken back a bit. I polished it off with,”I like________, but everyone’s tastes are different, and so I can’t tell you what you will like.”
He sat there looking at the menu, and I questioned, “What is Jackson Hole?” He said,”You have never heard of Jackson Hole.” I said,”NO, sorry, I am not a Utah Native.” He said, “Where are you from?” I said, “Where are you from?” He said,”I asked you first.” I said you probably haven’t heard of it. He said,”Try me.” I said, “California.” He said, “Heard of it.” I said,”Carlsbad, bet you haven’t heard of that?” He said,”Actually, I have vacationed there a few times. It is a great place.” and he continued on to tell me about places he had visited in my town.
I said,”So, where are you from?” He said,”Several places actually, Connecticut, Utah, California.” I said,”Oh, you’re a military kid.” If you haven’t figured it out by now, the guy I was giving attitude was Steve Young. He is obviouslly not a military kid, but I am sure he found this rather humorous considering I was either making a really good front that I didn’t know who he was, or I was just a total idiot.
He later asked me what I was doing after work (I like to claim that he would have dumped his sister or his date and hung out with me), but I think he was just being nice. I told him I was preparing my talk to give in church the next day. He said,”Oh, that is why you want to go home so bad.” I said,”yep.” At this point, another guy came and took over the register for me and I went back in the kitchen. The cook said,”You sure were striking the fancy of Steve Young.” I said, “Who?” He said, “That was Steve Young.” I was mortified.
The next day, my roommate was in charge of a fireside (something that Mormon’s do on some Sunday nights…an extra gathering.) After hearing my claim to fame, my roommate decided that I had to give the opening prayer. As I walked up she claimed that Steve said that I looked so familiar and that she told him about the night before. She said that he said,”Oh yeah, she is hilarious!” Who knows if that conversation really took place, but I think if it is true that Steve Young thinks I am hillarious, then you should really continue reading my blog, right?