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