First, you guys made me laugh again with your comments. Thanks. Together, I hope one of us will always be funny.

So, I’m meeting a writing partner for lunch-work today at House of Pies in the Los Feliz area/neighborhood/parish/sub-section. (I never know what to call… area/neighborhoods/sub-cities.)

I love names like that, names that just go right at whatever the thing is. Like The Food Channel. I mean, there’s no fat on that (so to speak), the thing, is the thing, is the thing, is the thing, res ipsa loquitor. The Food Channel. Here’s what we do, and there’s no mistaking it. (On the other hand, I shudder to think what they would call themselves if they were showing sex.)

Thus: House of Pies. I ate there once with the family years ago, and did something I’ve never done before or since.

I’m not much of a public teaser. I liked Candid Camera as a kid, and my wife’s first writing job was on Totally Hidden Videos, and a gentle joke on unsuspecting folks is funny, when it’s all in good fun (as they used to say). I’m not so much a fan of the Borat kind of bits, where unsuspecting folks are handled… not so kindly. I always want to say, “Hey, that guy at the used car lot didn’t get up today hoping to look stupid in your movie. He’s not cool and sophisticated, like you. He’s just trying to make a living. Is that okay with you?” But, there you are. That’s what makes horse races, as my mom used to say.

So I’m not a practical joker, and I don’t like practical jokes on me. But I did something at House of Pies ten years ago that I just couldn’t resist.

We’d just had dinner on a summer night, and I got up to pay the tab and started walking the length of the restaurant to the cashier, an elderly woman apparently at the end of her shift. She looked a little tired and a little bored, and just had that general “I’ve just about had it” look. And why shouldn’t she? It’s a hot August night, and she’s ready to go home and put her feet up.

As I was walking toward her I noticed (one couldn’t help NOT noticing) that she was framed by… pies. There was a wall of wooden pie slots, floor to ceiling, and she was staring absently over the register, a lone figure in front of what had to be seven hundred pies. This kind, that kind, every kind. Nothing but pies.

Normally, I would smile slightly (which I did), hand the lady the check with the money (which I did), and bother her as little as possible — which I didn’t.

Now, I mean, the name of the place, on a giant rotating sign, is House of Pies. The inside of the joint repeats that in various un-small ways, so that no matter where you looked, if you just materialized in there, you would see “House of Pies”. Every employee talks about pie constantly. (”More coffee? No? Would you like some pie?”) And here, the poor thing, tired at the end of her day, is framed by more pies, tip to toe, than anywhere in the western world.

So when I walked up, and nodded and smiled, and handed her the check, I just couldn’t resist. When she said, in a tired voice, “Anything else I can do for you, sir?”…

I looked right at her and in the flattest way possible said, “Just one thing. Do you have any pie?”

Then we just stared at each other.

It wasn’t long, just two or three seconds, but that’s actually a long time, if you think about it, for that sort of thing. Then I just smiled and held a hand up and said, “Sorry. Just being silly.”

I know it’s stupid, but it made me laugh then, and it makes me laugh now. Surrounded by nothing but pies as far as the eye can see, and this idiot asks if we have any.

And that’s where I’m going today. I wonder if she’s still there. If she is, I think I have to do it again. I’m not going to if it’s just someone else there, but if it’s she behind the counter, I’m going to ask her again and see if she remembers.

Who knows? Maybe this time she’ll take one out and throw it in my face. (I hope it’s marangue: softer.)

REMEMBER: IF YOU WALKED OUT OF BED TODAY AND HAD A CHANCE TO TEASE SOMEONE, MAKE SURE IT’S GENTLE. AND ONLY DO IT ONCE EVERY TEN YEARS.