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Are You a Towman?

First off: no, not a toe man. Put your socks back on. Here’s a 5-point field diagnostic to find out if you have diesel in your veins and a hook in your heart.

A rugged yellow heavy wrecker parked on a quiet city street in Towman.

First off, let’s clear the air: no, not a toe man.

Put your socks back on. We aren’t podiatrists, we don’t inspect bunions, and nobody at THICKRIM Games is building a mobile game about orthopedic footwear. (Though if there’s a big market for podiatry simulators, please keep it to yourself.)

We’re talking about a Towman—the driver sitting in the cab at 5:30 AM with hot coffee in the cup holder, yellow amber strobes cutting through the morning fog, listening to the radio crackle while the rest of Chicagoland is still hitting snooze.

Some people look at a jammed tollway and see a headache. A Towman looks at a jammed tollway and sees a puzzle waiting to be unhooked.

Think you’ve got what it takes? Run through our official 5-point field diagnostic.


The 5-Point Towman Diagnostic

1. You back into every parking stall

If you pull head-first into a parking space, you’re just visiting. A true Towman is always staged for immediate roll-out. Front wheels straight, side mirrors aligned, ready to drop into drive the second dispatch chimes. If your vehicle isn’t ready to exit in under three seconds, you’re doing it wrong.

2. Hazard lights give you a Pavlovian tingle

When ordinary motorists see flashing orange hazard lights on the shoulder of Route 53, their heart rate spikes and they tap the brakes. When you see hazard lights, your eyes narrow, you calculate the curb clearance, and you wonder whether they snapped a tie rod or just forgot how a spare tire works. Not panic—opportunity.

3. You respect the sacred geometry of the winch

You know that winching isn’t just pulling hard—it’s trigonometry with grease. Forty-five-degree anchor lines, snatch blocks, bridle straps, and steady tension. Anyone can jerk a bumper clean off an axle; a true Towman slides a disabled sedan up onto the deck without leaving a scratch on the clear coat.

4. Bad weather looks like overtime pay

When the radio forecaster announces four inches of slush across Shamburg and Arlington Rise, normal people cancel their dinner plans and crawl under blankets. You check your tire chains, top off the diesel, and smile. Snow doesn’t stop the city—it just raises the payout multiplier.

5. You believe any problem can be solved with $15,000 and one trusty rig

You don’t need an empire to get started. You don’t need a twenty-bay warehouse or a fleet of chrome-plated rotators. Give you one light-duty truck, a small depot lot, and a working CB radio, and you’ll build a transportation empire one bumper at a time.


The Verdict


Ready for Your First Shift?

If you scored high on the test, your depot is waiting. You start in Shamburg with Unit 1, fifteen grand in working capital, and an entire county of stranded motorists who need a hand.

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