Only on telenovelas, which make American soap operas look like PBS documentaries, would surgeons wear eye patches and nurses totter about on 5-inch stilettos.

And only on a faux telenovela would the stars whisk a woman from her job as a manager of a dog accessory boutique to act in a scene. And if the actors are Cristian de la Fuente (“In Plain Sight”) and Jesse Metcalfe (“Desperate Housewives”), it’s understandable why Anna Reyes allowed herself to be whisked anywhere. Even to this dank theater in Manhattan’s East Village, where she would appear in an episode of “Make My Day,” airing at 10 p. m. Monday on TV Land.

The show, which premiered this past summer, puts unknowing subjects in strange but not dangerous situations. There’s a “gotcha” moment but not the usual accompanying snarkiness.

The machinations leading up to the encounters are a bit forced, but everyone seems to have a pretty good time. And as far as hidden-camera shows go, it’s a lot kinder than co-workers lying in wait to ambush unsuspecting people about their wardrobes.

“A lot of times you have hidden- camera shows [that] make people suffer,” de la Fuente says while waiting for Reyes. “This is completely different. It will make somebody’s day a great day.”

Reyes’ day was great, she says later, but it was odd, even by Greenwich Village standards.

Reyes, 28, who emigrated from Ecuador 17 years ago, lives with her husband, Louie, and their children, Jarret and Lilianna. She works at a West Village high-end dog boutique, where her co-worker Dylan recommended her for this show.

Reyes had frequently talked about her love of Metcalfe, telenovelas and Latin dances. So the show’s producers sought to combine all of these and make her day, but not in the “Dirty Harry” kind of way.

For his part, Metcalfe says, “I got a random call and asked if I wanted to participate in a show to make someone’s day—who’s a huge fan of mine. Why wouldn’t I?”

While at work, Reyes chats with de la Fuente, who browses accessories for his dog. He leaves behind a script, with his notes, for the telenovela he’s supposedly working on.

De la Fuente calls and asks Reyes to bring the script to him, if she would please just hop in the car he’ll have waiting for her.

Reyes goes where told, but instead of finding de la Fuente, she encounters Metcalfe, rehearsing a dance number. Another odd coincidence — his dance partner doesn’t show up, so the choreographer asks Reyes to step in. The choreographer tells Reyes she has potential and gives her credit for one month’s worth of classes.

Reyes returns to work, and the strangeness continues, with other odd people turning up, proffering gifts. Metcalfe calls to thank her and invites her to return and be an extra. He says he’ll pick her up in a car in a few minutes.

And so Reyes gets into yet another car to sit in crosstown traffic for 40 minutes, with the destination being the dank theater. As de la Fuente waits, he checks his e-mail and tells an assistant he must wear an eye patch for his scene in the faux telenovela. Metcalfe likes the eye-patch idea, so they both wind up looking like deranged pirates, having a blast and overacting as if they would be forced to walk the plank were they subtle.

Reyes is ushered in and given a white doctor’s coat. A makeup artist works her magic, and she’s on the stage with the hunky, albeit piratical “surgeons.”

Metcalfe and de la Fuente emote and embrace Reyes. She keeps cracking up. Yes, she knew all along, but the actors “made her day.”.