10 comics walk into a bar . . .

Reeta Piazza is busy. Her BlackBerry is blowing up, her office phone won’t stop ringing and her e-mail inbox keeps chiming. “Call Michael at Happy Madison” is scribbled on a things-to-do pad on her desk and members of her staff keep popping in to ask her questions.

Still, the director of special events for the Improv in Hollywood has invited me into the treehouse-like office upstairs on Melrose Avenue for an interview. I’m there to ask her how she feels about open mikes, the organized congregation of comedians in clubs, coffee shops and the occasional bowling alley across L.A. where aspiring comics go to scrimmage for free.

There are dozens of these jester-fests every night -- still a robust industry amid our troubled economy. I know people who’ll do a 6:30 in the Valley, race down to Sunset for an 8, then wrap up the night with a 10:30 in Santa Monica. I guess the next generation of comedians has to come from somewhere. It may as well be a bagel place in Westwood.

Now, the Improv’s open mike has relaunched as a regular gig on Tuesdays, and Piazza is excited.

“I do a great open mike now,” she says, beaming as she explains how and why it’s been streamlined since the days of chatty hosts and overzealous audio guys. Now, there is no host -- the comedians are brought up over the PA, which is also how they do it at the Laugh Factory in West Hollywood on Tuesday nights, and Piazza tries to watch every set. For comedians, that’s huge, because there are basically two reasons we do open mikes: (1) for practice, or (2) so important people see us. The UnUrban Coffee House in Santa Monica is a great place to practice Thursday nights. But if you want to catch the right eye, the Improv is where you should be.

Although the open mike there has changed, it’s still a lottery system. That is, comedians write their names on small slips of paper about 45 minutes before the show and put them in-to a hat. Then a staff member disappears for 20 minutes or so and compiles a list of that week’s chosen ones. Not everyone is picked. The exclusivity of it all helps us forget that we’re doing pro bono work. Tom Sawyer would applaud. But Shirley Jackson would wag her finger at us. (There are various ways open mikes choose their participants, but there’s always a list involved. And there’s usually a limit. The Laugh Factory takes only 15 comics, for instance. Seriously, if they let anyone in, how special could it be?)

If you moved to Los Angeles to make a living doing stand-up, first you’re going to have to get your nails dirty in the trenches doing open mikes. There’s no shame in it. Think of it as starting out in the minors, maybe on the Dodgers’ farm team, working on your swing and developing your rhythm. Create a buzz. Get noticed. L.A. is full of important people.

Which brings me back to Piazza. There are several ways to get on the stage for one of the Improv’s shows.

1) You can befriend one of the comedians who might be putting a show together. (Theme shows run rampant. Apparently audiences are more comfortable if the jesters are grouped according to religion, race or sex. “I love comedy and I am Jewish. Bring me Jewish comedians!” “I am female but I also enjoy comedy. Bring me female comedians.” Watch for clever wordplay like “The Shebrews of Stand-Up” or “Baby Got Black” -- not real names, but where there’s a theme show, there’s a goofy pun.)

2) You can book your own show, which basically means the Improv will let you use its stage for a show of comedians you choose (see above) if you can persuade it that you can fill the place with people it can then charge for drinks.

3) You can do the Improv open mike and do well. Piazza puts a separate show together now made up of the open mike’s most impressive, and if you’re picked, you can bring people to watch you who won’t be charged to get in. That might not sound like much, but such is the reward system for performers in Los Angeles.

In some places in the world it’s possible to make a living doing stand-up, but in L.A., where the Holy Grail is getting discovered, stand-up becomes a means to an end. It’s all or nothing -- get discovered or continue working free. Even if you do the open mike a few times at the Laugh Factory and are given a showcase (a chance to do a longer set that founder Jamie Masada might watch), the payoff -- being made a “paid regular” -- won’t cover the rent. It’s about bragging rights, which pays less.

There’s an “If you build it, they will come” element of open mikes in L.A. Put a microphone and a light pretty much anywhere and the humorous unknown will find it. Sure, it might be an empty pizzeria in front of a crowd of only other comedians. And, yes, you might have to lift your voice over the blender when it abruptly erupts. And OK, there might not be a microphone. But this is how we choose to spend our nights, be it for practice, camaraderie or so we can call ourselves entertainers. Some people bowl. Some people drink. We gather in poorly lighted rooms and do bits.

Do it long enough, and you’ll encounter all levels of single-A stand-up -- the good, the bad and “the bringer,” a second-tier show so pretentious, participants are given stage time based on how many audience members they bring with them. Bring five friends, get five minutes. Bring two friends, and you get two. What could be worse than performing free? Performing free in front of a crowd you wrangled -- and for only one minute, because you could only find one person to go.

Open mikes at the Big Three (the Improv, the Laugh Factory and the Comedy Store) are easily the most sought after, because, if nothing else, we can say we stood on the same stage where Dane Cook broke the endurance record with a seven-hour set, or Sarah Silverman paced sheepishly, or Andy Dick pulled his junk out (seriously, what?). Plus, we’re in the building where people have been discovered by the comedy royalty who might be walking by when we’re onstage.

We need places like the Improv and the Comedy Store. But do they need us? Piazza finally sits down to catch her breath. She’s like a hummingbird. I think I have her attention. And we begin.

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So, you’re the Hollywood Improv, you’re a heavy hitter. Why do an open mike? Why mess with it?

For me personally, you know why you do an open mike? . . . I have seen somebody who started at an open mike and I now see him [absolutely] exploding. Probably one of our biggest headliners.

[OK, she didn’t say “absolutely.” Piazza has the language of a sailor three times her size.]

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Who’s that?

Pablo Francisco. We grew up together in this business so I’ve experienced it myself. I have an affection for it.

[That, by the way, is exactly what you want to hear from a shot-caller.]

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We all want stage time at the Improv. When you see something you like at the open mike, you’ve been known to give the nod to the sound guy. Then he writes something down. What does that mean?

It means I’ve got my eye on them and I want to see more. It takes a long time. I’ll give somebody a spot here or there. I’ve come across some really great talent. I had a great show Sunday night. I pick my 10 favorite guys from the open mike and give them six or seven minutes. I give them a free guest list, two-item minimum, you can invite as many people as you want, we had about 80 people in here. It’s the best of the open mike.

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You get enough talent at the open mike for that?

I had a great show last Sunday. It’s ‘cause I worked the [heck] out of everybody like for three or four months. There has to be a payoff for these kids.

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You mean you pull them to the side and give them pointers?

Sometimes, yeah, I’ll give people notes if they want them. I mean, I’m not the end-all be-all, but if people want my opinion I give it to them.

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How does one get discovered?

We know when somebody’s got some talent on ‘em. It’s really just up to you to go work the rooms. That’s the catalyst. We know who’s shredding up rooms. You gotta do open mike after open mike after open mike.

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How does that pay off?

There’s no real science. I can’t explain it. It just happens. It’s just a rumble that starts. You gotta become involved in the community with your comics.

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How important is catching your eye at the open mike?

I think it’s really important. If I see somebody that I just can’t live without, I start putting the word out to my booking office.

Our interview is cut short because Adam Sandler’s people have arrived. I thank Piazza, get into my car and drive down Melrose with a new optimism. In a town where it feels like everybody’s looking out for No. 1, it’s cool to know that one of the Bigs might be rooting for you.

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