I don’t really partake of April Fool’s Day; I find it too confining. It’s always open season, as far as I’m concerned.

Here’s one from my days in khaki, with me on the giving end (I was the recipient of several good ones, too). One of my shipmates, let’s call him Brian, was teaching Chemistry, Materials and Radiological fundamentals (CMR), and I was teaching Reactor Principles (RP), and one class section I was teaching was near the CMR office, so it wasn’t at unusual for me to drop in to say hi to him or his better-looking and (more importantly to me, single and female) colleagues. But I digress … Brian hails from Idaho, and one of his classes had given him a Mr. Potato Head, which he proudly displayed on his desk. So I swiped it one day, and an unidentified co-conspirator hid it in a security locker (teaching notes were classified and had to be locked up when not in use or in any way unsupervised, so there several security lockers in the office). Brian came back during the short break between classes (we usually taught two consecutive 50-minute periods, with a 5 or 10-minute break between them, to each section, and taught two sections), freaked out when he noticed his pet spud was missing, searched frantically, but had to go back to teach. He made a huge error at that point, as I recall — he asked me if I had his Mr. Potato Head, and since I didn’t (it was in the locker) I was able to truthfully tell him “no,” rather than give him a sarcastic (but also truthful) “Yeah, right, I took it,” had he asked me the appropriate question*. I came back later and collected the booty, so when Brian had time to search the lockers, the tuber toy was gone.

In Phase II I procured my own Mr. Potato Head and baked him briefly

After about a week of the empty spot being on the desk (but before there was time for any “Have You Seen Me” posters showing up in the produce section of the local Publix markets) I put Mr. Baked Potato on his desk. Brian was devastated. We played bridge pretty regularly, and I remember him repeatedly bemoaning his damaged Mr. Potato head at some game; I’m sure it was partly because he suspected me and wanted me to feel guilty. But I have a guideline for pranks: no actual damage — that crosses the line into vandalism. (Though that would have been ironic, because his alma mater’s nickname was the Vandals) So I was reveling in his torment, because I knew the original was safe and sound.

I think I let his anguish simmer for a few weeks before I returned the original to him.

*As I recall, for my major pranks, I never lied about doing it when confronted. I sometimes was able to avoid answering or be very pedantic about the answer when the question was poorly worded. I don’t have an ethical problem with loopholes in this area.