I love to shake people up some times by making a joke or by voicing an ironic observation. When I go to the bank, for instance, to make a deposit with a request to get a small amount of cash back, let’s say $50, the clerk will invariably ask me how, in what denominations, I would like this amount. With a very deadpan expression, I’ll say, “In hundreds, please.”

Step one for making a joke, according to my own invention for invention: Be willing to disrupt the flow.

My secondary purpose in life is not to pray upon service workers of every stripe, although brief, everyday encounters seem to lend themselves to in the flow observations and snappy remarks. It’s just that – for me anyway, engaging in this kind of playful repartee is a lot of fun.

Countless times, when I have worked my way towards the front of the check-out line at the store, I will go through the FRWTCC, the Fumbling Ritual With The Credit Card. No matter how many times I have walked this path and performed the routine of swiping my card, I rarely get it right on the first time. (There are four different ways you can guide the card through the reader and only one of them gets you to the next screen.) Often, after flipping my plastic over a few times until I get the swipe right, I’ll stand confidently at the processing station with the voo doo like magic, specially wired credit card processing pen in hand and announce to the clerk that the fumbling she just witnessed is over. I am very good at signing my name. I cockily announce, “I’ve been practicing.”

This usually leads to a few smiles, or at least a blink of recognition that someone is funning with them. There’s an ample amount of ambiguity here, which makes it fun for me as I look for reactions of the surrounding innocents. Have I been practicing signing this name? Am I the person whose name is on the credit card? Or, have I been out practicing shopping, enthusiastically charging my purchases?

I actually don’t think it’s audience reaction that drives me. It’s something else that sparks the inner giggle.

Last week, I was at a local bar waiting for a friend to join me. I was watching the customers and waitresses interact. I got a glimpse of a balding, middle-aged man – okay, he was probably my age. He folded several bills into his hand, which he then stuffed into his waitress’s hand and then, in a oddly intimate way, enfolded her hand with both of his. The waitress was in her mid-twenties. She wore tight jeans and a colorful, loose-fitting top. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, hanging in a most casual sort of way, perfectly unadorned, simultaneously styled and wild.

I remember thinking he’s way too old for her. What can he be thinking? Then I shook my head and found the inner giggle creep over me. A younger woman, I contemplated, might give you better mileage, but us older models can be so much fun to drive.

Hey, I made up a joke. For no one but myself. Rest assured, I won’t be competing with Seinfeld or Tina Fey any time soon, but I love making up jokes. It’s so easy to get ensnared in critical self-talk, or to ruminate on something that happened a week ago on Tuesday, something that can’t be changed or fixed. Our minds can also dream up incredible scenarios for testing out possibilities, or we can revel in an in the moment awareness in order to make up a joke.

Delighting in your own mind is no small thing.