The hammer was big enough

I was worried when I parked tonight.

The only parking space left when I got to this truck stop was at the end of a row, next to the lane everyone has to use to leave the fuel islands. I've had to take too many sharp corners to really trust anyone else doing it.*

I feel better now, though. Somebody else just parked next to me. That isn't really a space over there. Which means he's taking a much bigger chance than I was. It also means I'm no longer the one playing corner post.

Fine by me.

I was supposed to be relaxing about 80 miles north of here. I shut down early this afternoon about 20 miles from my destination--which I was forbidden to approach before tomorrow morning. That much time to myself is a rare and glorious thing, and I was prepared to enjoy it.

Two and a half hour later, the phone rang. How many hours did I have left? Oh, good. They needed me to take over somebody else's load. Just run down to this other truck stop, switch trailers with him, and go pick up some extra freight over here.

i really should forget how to relax.

I said yes like a good fellow, threaded 30-40 miles of two-lane highway, and found the other guy. Got his trailer, did my paperwork, got something cold to drink, and got ready to roll.

It was about that time I noticed that my emergency fiashers had stopped flashing.

A moment's checking showed the turn signals had gone the same way. They came on just fine. They just wouldn't flash.

With less than two hours on the clock and another 30 miles of two-lane to traverse, I really didn't need this. No way I could call Breakdown, get a serviceman out here, and still make the pickup. And an 18-wheeler that doesn't use turn signals gets NOTICED.

Time to pretend I was the mechanic my father spent many frustrating years trying to turn me into.

Fortunately, logic gave me a good head start on this one. All the lights worked. They just didn't flash. And it had happened all at once. So the likeliest culprit was...

It took me another five minutes to search the truck and find the fusebox, another minute or two to figure out how to open it. As I'd hoped, there was a diagram on the inside cover. And--yes, there it was.

Not the fuse, silly. A bad fuse would have kept the lights from coming on at all. No, I was looking for the relay.

Yes, this truck is that old-fashioned. An electro-mechanical widget that turns the lights on and off while making cute little clicky sounds. If that wasn't the problem, I was going to have to yell for help.

And I might have to anyway. It's not as if I was carrying any spares.

Time for the high-tech solution.

i jiggled it.

I whacked it.

I called it a few names.

And then I tried the flashers again.

No worries. It was as if nothing had ever been wrong.

So I started the truck and headed off to the shipper. Sophisticated troubleshooting techniques had won out again.

Hey, if it was good enough sor the Apollo astronauts...
-----
*I once saw a gentleman looking for a parking space take a corner a little too tight and a little too fast. He caved in the end truck's fender and crushed its radiator. The discussions went on far into the night...