Once upon a time in a land far far away, it was a much more innocent world. Not only did you repair a television if it broke, but the serviceman came to your home to do the job. You admitted this person to your home and went about your business while they completed their task.
I was 15 and had been given the chore of reattaching the metal strip in the doorway that secured the edge of the linoleum from the kitchen to the edge of the carpet in the living room. As it happened I had never used an automatic screwdriver before and was merrily pumping up and down on the barrel, moving easily from screw to screw.
This was a much more innocent age and it took me several minutes to understand why the TV repairman was screaming with laughter just because I turned to him and said, “What do you know. A screwdriver that does your screwing for you.”