Ept

It was as though I was the most skilled surgeon in the land. I was surprised a crowd had not gathered to point and murmur excitedly at the wizardry on display.

My wife and I had gone to the Department of Motor Vehicles for the ministerial act of changing title to a vehicle. Part of the process involving our removing the existing plates from the fore and aft of the car.

As ever prepared, my wife brought along a ratcheting screwdriver with the correct head, as selected by her, to perform the necessary operation. I neither knew what ratcheting meant or had the faintest clue regarding determining the most appropriate head (by the way, head may well be the wrong term, but it is as close as I can possibly come to using screwdriver jargon).

Anyway, both she and I went into the DMV to get the paperwork done. The place was amazingly efficient, snaking through one line in seconds, filling out this form, getting on that line, rinsing and repeating. In but a few minutes, we were ready to have our number called for the final step.

Only my wife remained inside to finish this up. Meaning the person who didn't know a screwdriver from a martini was somehow tasked with alligator wrestling the car in a death match over ownership of the plates.

"If you can't do it, I'll come out after I am done inside." But that would mean an extra step, an extra line and our luck had been too good so far to court disaster.

The odds against success were posted in Vegas at 75 to 1. I retrieved my scalpel from where it lay on the car's backseat. I headed to the back of the vehicle and found there were but two rusted screws between me and a first half victory.

With my initial thrust I already found paydirt. The screwdriver locked in on its target and kind of did the lefty loosey thing. The ratcheting definitely was beyond my ken and made me worry that my attempt would stall. But I fought against this fear and managed, within seeming seconds, to pry the plate from its home. I only imagined being one of the pit crew at the Indy 500, taking apart a car and reassembling it in 12.2 seconds.

In no more than two or three minutes, I had also conquered the front plate with (get this) four screws and won a battle that was more of a titanic upset than the first Liston - Clay fight. My wife looked stunned as I returned triumphant. "You did this all by yourself?"

When this saga was later reported to our son, he repeated the exact words that his mom had earlier uttered. I now envisioned myself the finest knight at the round table.

I definitely think I missed my calling. For those who have for so long underestimated my capacities, watch out. There's a new Sheriff in town.

I believe I shall advertise my services for sale to the highest bidder. I shall be known far and wide as the “great unscrewer.” Or better yet, I shall call myself “the man with more than a few loose screws.”

For I am now ept.

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