It's easy to determine how open I am to interpersonal communication at any given time by counting the number of dirty pipes on my desk, either at home or work.

My wife picked up on it decades ago. When she peeks into my home office, she looks at the pipes laid out waiting to be emptied and cleaned and returned to the cabinet. Usually there are none and she comes in and visits. If there are one or two, I'm busy, but have time to talk for a bit. If there are four, five or more, I'm swamped and unlikely to speak beyond monosyllabic grunts.

I don't like dirty pipes to pile up, so when they do, it means I'm occupied with more important matters, and since there's little in life more important than pipes, that can be pretty serious.

My colleagues have not yet discovered this method of determining whether a visit with me will result in a pleasant conversation or one laced with short, Tourette's-like interjections of profanity and non-sequitur vocalizations. They knew about it at my last job. People would look in my office window for pipes, entering when there were none but fleeing if there were several. It was a convenient signal.

I've not been here at Smokingpipes long enough for that tip to get out. My colleague Andy entered the other day, for example, saying "Hey, Chuck, I've got this idea for a blog post — "

I had six dirty pipes on my desk. "Horkblatt! Ploof!"

"Right you are. Ploof to you, too. Anyway, I figure the historical angle of this piece — "

"Cankle! Retroobenflarnk!"

"Hey, man, have you misplaced reality again? Are you able to speak English?"

I wanted to accommodate him, but I was powerless. Resignedly, I said, "Blonk."

"Okay, I'll catch you when things are looking better." He stepped out the door, running into Truett coming in. "How is he today?" he asked.

"I dunno; he seems to be in that weird nonverbal place he goes in his head."

"He needs to get a grip. I've never seen so many dirty pipes on his desk." Of us writers, he's the smart one.

I don't like dirty pipes to pile up, so when they do, it means I'm occupied with more important matters, and since there's little in life more important than pipes, that can be pretty serious.

They left, and I got back to work, but Ted, my boss, soon entered. Uh-oh.

"So, Chuck, have you been thinking about your next pipemaker article? Who are you thinking about?"

I summoned all my willpower to overcome my bizarre outbursts, but managed only to vaguely direct them. "Bang!" I said.

"Good. Who's on the list after that?"

"Axmacher! Gotoh!"

"Nice. We should give some attention to more economically priced pipes, too."

"Ropp!"

"Yeah, that's good. What other brands have you been thinking about?"

"Butz! Pastuch!"

"Excellent. Well, keep me apprised of your progress."

Whew, that was close. My pipe was done and I put it down with the others. That made seven. I filled another and returned to typing.