Somewhere the Truck of Malfunction is Laughing Bitterly

Okay, so my trials with the Truck of Malfunction (TOM) are extensively documented. And while I loved the little guy like a bastard son, I wasn't exactly torn to bits by replacing him with the new hotness that was my Jaguar a couple of years back. Even though I knew that Jaguars were notorious for having excessive mechanical issues, I thought that maybe the 10 years of good-will karma I built up from owning a vehicle that averaged a new broken thing once every 2 weeks for an entire decade would offset brand superstitions.

On the whole, I think I've been pretty fortunate on that front, thus far. I know there was that terrible battery replacement issue and the resulting demonic possession incident. And there was that thing about a year ago when I had to replace the entire water pump system when it started spewing anti-freeze like that kid in The Exorcist. And then there were the two times this year that the car was hit while parked somewhere... Okay, so maybe not fortunate. But compared to the TOM, I was in a good place, mentally.

Then, about 2 months ago, the cruise control in my car stopped working. Every time I hit the start button, the cruise control would light up for 0.5 seconds, and then immediately cancel out. This was an intense blow to my car love, as the cruise control was probably the one thing that most improved my driving lifestyle from the TOM, excepting air conditioning in the summer. But at the same time, I was pretty poor and it's something of an extravagance. So it wasn't like I could justify going to the (crazy expensive) Jag mechanic just to have the luxury of not holding the gas pedal down all the time.

So I adapted, and only complained bitterly for 2 weeks about the strain that was having to constantly utilize my foot to drive.

Fast-forward to last week, when our dear friend from the north, Jim, was down visiting. At one point we decided to go somewhere but took two cars, as some of us were splitting off in different directions afterward. I, being the one who lived in Dallas full-time and ostensibly knew where we were going, did the leading. Upon arrival, the people from the following car asked "Did you know that your brake lights are on? Like, ALL the time?"

And suddenly the broken cruise control made a lot more sense. Since that's how you turn off the CC, by hitting the brakes. If the brakes always think they're on, the cruise control is never going to engage. That was a nice revelation for about 30 seconds, until I realized that I'd been driving for over 2 months with my brake lights on at all times, without ever noticing.

Combining the facts that I am now unemployed (and thus definitely don't have the money on hand to be fixing cars) and that I had gone this long without any serious problems, I decided that fixing the problem was going to be a relatively low priority on my list of Things That Gots To Be Done. Only now every time I got in the car it was all I could think about. I started realizing the huge margin of error that cars around me were always giving me. And every time I approached a red light, I immediately braced for rear impact. Within 5 days, I was reaching for the antacids at the same time that I went for my keys.

I decided that this would not stand, and I vowed to fix the problem myself, or at least I would poke around and see if I could identify where the problem originated. Per my dad, the problem was in the brake pedal sensor, which should be somewhere near the pedal itself, and would probably be in plain view. I was all about that, and right after hanging up the phone I was jazzed to get home and start doing mechanical type things.

I was so excited, in fact, that at the next stoplight, I tried feeling around below the steering wheel to see if I could trace the path of the brake pedal to its natural end. Within 5 seconds of exploring, I found a wire hanging loose down there, which led to a small plastic box just dangling out in space. Carefully feeling all over it, I determined that I had no idea what it was, but it did have a little plunger button on the side.

"Maybe it's a bomb," I thought.

Then I pushed the button.

"Wait, why did I push the button if I thought it was a bomb?" I immediately questioned myself. But it was far too late for recriminations.

The result was not a fiery explosion, only a vague *thump* from somewhere within the bowels of the car. But nothing visible happened. I decided that my not getting exploded was tempting fate enough, and waited until I got home to do any more experimentation.

At home, I wedged myself into the space below the steering wheel and started applying my (naturally giant) brain to the problem at hand - namely, what the hell was that thing and where should it go? Also, did it have anything to do with the brake problem?

The second part was easier to determine - it totally did, as pushing down that little button made the brake lights go off. I had made real progress, and the feeling of mechanical accomplishment was a heady thing indeed.

Next, where did it go? Following the brake line, I found a little hole on the mounting that was very similar in shape to the button casing. I was practically giddy at that point, but still managed to insert the little box without anything catching on fire or getting any part of my body electrocuted. I even figured out how to turn it to lock it in place.

At that point I was ready to anoint myself God of Mechanical Repairs. But then when I tested out the brakes, they always still stayed on. Unless I physically lifted the pedal myself from its normal resting place to engage the little button. No manner of changes I made could get it working. I was devastated enough that I wanted to cry.

But I was God of Mechanical Repairs, dammit! I would overcome.

So I went into the house for supplies. I returned shortly, holding two things: a nickle, and a roll of Scotch tape. By attaching a nickle to the brake pedal arm right where the button was supposed to touch, the circuit was made without having to even use a screwdriver.

All following tests were complete successes.

So maybe I'm just the Low-Rent God of Mechanical Repairs using Non-Traditional Household Items.

I can live with that, as long as I have my cruise control back.

God bless the nickel. Best use of five cents ever.