| They met at the very edge of Queen Anne
| |
| | slowly raised the flag. In a loud voice
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| Hill, in the parking lot of a defunct
| |
| | and with a distinct Seattle accent, she
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| Safeway store. In the dead of night they
| |
| | counted down the last few seconds --
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| gathered, this gang for sly and sneaky
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| | 12:59.58, 12:59.59 . . . Suddenly, she
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| temps, to fight for the longest and best
| |
| | whipped the flag through the air and
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| temporary employee assignment in Seattle.
| |
| | jumped into the cab of her rig.
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| Make no mistake about it, they would
| |
| | Diesel engines instantly roared to life,
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| fight to the death if need be, and the
| |
| | bright headlights came on and Hairless
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| losers had already pledged to turn the
| |
| | Harry’s eyes turned dark and mean.
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| job down.
| |
| | He was dressed in all black, the same
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| It was Gretta who called this gang
| |
| | midnight black as the paint on his rig,
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| together, having recently survived the
| |
| | when he harshly shoved his stick into
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| worst assignment of them all—the
| |
| | gear. A size 22 boot slammed on the gas
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| dreaded mail room job at the city jail.
| |
| | and his big shiny machine shot through
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| Her hands bandaged from paper cuts, her
| |
| | the darkness -- through the parking lot
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| back just barely healed from heavy
| |
| | and clean through the chain link fence.
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| lifting, Gretta was determined to have
| |
| | His tires squealed, his engine roared and
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| that job if it was the last thing she
| |
| | the strained metal of his rig cried out
|
| ever did! But what kind of race would be
| |
| | in anguish as he desperately tried to
|
| fair? Temps came in all shapes and
| |
| | make the turn. Two Qwest phone booths
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| sizes. Some were old, some young, some
| |
| | were the first to go, flying across the
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| fat, some ugly and some … well,
| |
| | intersection and landing on three empty,
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| Gretta would only say she couldn’t
| |
| | parked cars. Then the Bank of America
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| compete with some of them.
| |
| | building seemed to tremble… just
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| Eighteen Wheelers, decided Gretta.
| |
| | before he ran over the curb, knocked over
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| Shoot, everyone had one and knew how to
| |
| | the “no parking” sign and
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| drive it. Yes indeed, that would be
| |
| | bounced off its side. Finally, Hairless
|
| fair. So there they were, this gang of
| |
| | Harry straightened the wheels and sped
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| the top six temps, their shiny rigs
| |
| | off down the street.
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| evenly lined up in the empty parking lot.
| |
| | Still glued to her seat, Quick Draw Lucy
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| With her Mariner baseball cap on
| |
| | roared with laughter — Hairless
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| backward, dressed in faded jeans and her
| |
| | Harry was going the wrong way!
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| favorite Seahawk sweatshirt, Gretta
| |
| |
|
