Me vs. Pie

May 13 was the cap to a stressful week, a week that, of course ended with a Friday the 13th, a week that ended with me getting "pied."

I chose carefully my wardrobe for the day, a white polo shirt so the whipped cream would not be too noticeable, and I packed a change of clothes just in case things got too messy. The pie-ing was to begin at about 10:15.

By 10 a.m., I was set with a pair of chemistry lab goggles -- a nice pair with no holes to "breathe" or let in globs of whipped cream. I scavenged for a trash can liner and had a secretary help me cut a hole for my head to craft a good smock; she taped me up well.

Off to the commons. Some of the students in the sponsoring club tried to get me to be more discrete and act suprised. I must have looked pretty shocked at that statement -- everyone already knew I was destined to get the splat.

Some of my so-called friends had assembled and began chanting "No goggles! No goggles!" -- a chant which eventually spread among a few dozen other onlookers. I was not about to get whipped cream in my eyes; I wanted cleanup to be a snap.

The "pie" was really just a crumb crust fulled with Cool Whip. The pie-pusher joined me on the stage and, with pie in hand, moved toward me. I flinched at his fake. The crowd erupted in laughter. I realized the only way I was going to get this over with was to just close my eyes and take it. So I did.

Splat!

Pie Guy pushed the pie onto my face, and began twisting it around for good effect. As he pushed and twisted, I naturally moved backward, and I stepped in a clump of crumbs and cream and slipped. Even if my view had not been blocked by pie, I had my glasses off, so I couldn't see anything. My arms trapped inside the plastic smock, I thought, "I'm goin' down." And I did. More crowd laughter.

At that point I think things were over, and some teachers helped me clean up. You'd think someone would have thought to bring more than a roll of paper towels, but perhaps that can be in the plans for next year. I also realized I had a pretty big gash on my chin from where the edge of the alumnimum pie plate had scraped me.

Cleanup was pretty easy once someone helped me out of the smock and cleaned my shoe of pie goop. I only spent a few minutes in the teacher's room bathroom. I also had to make a stop to see the nurse, who taped shut my cut with a conspicuous piece of tape.

I only made one comment at lunch among the Joint Chiefs to get a bit of sympathy and to make Pie Guy feel a bit guilty for pieing me and cutting me. That's it. I'm done.

I guess I was what is called a "good sport," but I still think I will never get another pie in the face if I can help it. Or at least it will be in a paper dish.

-- Wenatchee, Wash.