Summary:The Registry of Motor Vehicles... Monty Python style.

Disclaimer:I'm wishin' and hopin' but I still don't own anything Monty Python.

The RMV

"I don't think I'm ready." Sam pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. He gave his mother a sideways glance as they crossed the parking lot. "Quiz me."

Mrs. Lowell sighed. "Sam, I've asked you every question I can think of. You're ready." At her son's worried look she sighed again and asked, "What shape is an informational sign?"

"Square or rectangle," Same answered immediately.

"See!" His mother threw her arm around his shoulders. "You're ready."

Sam didn't respond. The Registry of Motor Vehicles was just ahead and he could feel his nerves twisting into a knot and making him jittery. As they got closer to the low, faded-white, one story building, Sam noticed that there was a little old man stopping people before they entered the glass doors.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he and his mother stepped up to him. If Sam wasn't daunted before, he was at the mere sight of the old man. He was short, hunched over and leaning on a lever. The man's hair was stringy and gray, he was covered in filth and wore tattered rags for clothes. He look like a hobo. The man's one blue eye, gave Sam the once-over, making the young teen gulp in fear.

"I'll go first and wait inside for you," his mother said quietly. Before Sam could ask what she was talking about or who the old man was, she stepped forward.

"Stop!" shouted the old man. "Who would enter the RMV must answer me these questions three, 'ere the inside he see."

"Ask me the questions, doorman. I am not afraid," replied Sam's mom, and the teenager couldn't help but admire her confidence.

"What... is your name?"

"Jean Lowell," she replied easily

"What... is your quest?"

"To get my son his permit."

Sam wrung his hands together nervously. This would be the last question and surely it would be difficult.

"What," began the doorman, "is the color of a stop sign?"

"Red," she said matter-of-factly.

"Right, off you go." The old man stood aside and Mrs. Lowell smiled as she walked through the glass doors.

For a moment, Sam stood, watching where his mother had disappeared. Slowly his brown eyes fell back on the doorman. Were the questions really that easy? he asked himself. Surely if they were, he could pass. Besides, he figured. He's just some hobo that pretends to guard the doors. What can he do if I answer wrong?

Drawing up what little confidence he had, Sam stepped forward. As expected, the old man held up his grubby hand gave his order. "Stop!" Sam did as the doorman said. "Whoever approacheth RMV, must answer me these questions three, 'ere the inside he see."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam said just what his mother had. "Ask me your questions, doorman. I am not afraid."

"What... is your name?"

"Samuel Lowell," he replied. Knowing he had answered the first question correctly, gave the teen a bit more confidence and he felt he was more than ready to answer the next two.

"What... is your quest?

"To get my learner's permit," he answered with a firm nod. Now it was time for the last question. Sam felt he was ready and wondered how easy it would be. 'What color is a caution sign' perhaps?

"What," began the doorman, "...is the location of the first RMV?"

"W-what," stuttered Sam. "How am I supposed to know that?"

The old man's face split into a hideous grin and he pulled the lever. Before Sam knew what was happening, there was a blinding white flash from a camera. The old man laughed gleefully and cruelly as Sam was lost forever in the void of the Registry of Motor Vehicles.