Federal
Way Truck Stop Chase
One evening, after phoning in my whereabouts, I turned from the outdoor phone booth to be confronted by 3 or 4 truckers already under a load, if you get my drift. And they didn't believe my claim to be a truck driver rather than a business lady plying my wares.
A chase ensued. My childhood experience escaping my drunken brother into the darkness outside the house now served me handily as I zigged and zagged between rigs in the parking lot. To head for my own truck would corner me, so I crouched beneath and between the dual axles of a random truck, willing my breathing to quiet. I could hear them talking back and forth as they continued their search, moving away briefly then, to my horror, returning with flashlights.
I
froze as the beams swept slowly and methodically under trucks and
trailers near me, within inches of my position. I prayed my beating
heart didn't give me away.
After
an eternity, I calculated their position based on their calls to one
another, then executed a swift dash to my Kenworth, unlocked the
driver's door by feel and memory with the cached screwdriver that
functioned as the key for the missing lock. Scaled the ladder and was
inside the cab in two seconds flat, closed the door as quietly and
firmly as I could, pushing down the lock button and diving into the
sleeper through the rolled-down curtain.
Big
rigs don't have auto-on cab lights, like cars do. Small blessings,
silent thanks.
I
peered cautiously through the curtain while they continued combing
the lot for their prey. An hour, then two passed before I felt brave
enough to fire up the truck and pull out of there for the last time.
