by Wendipoprock

I made up a club. It’s called the “One Up” Club. I’m sure we all know those people who, no matter what you say, always have to “one up you”. They love to ask you how you are so that they can quickly jump right in and splurt out how bad they are doing compared to you. Or how much better their kid or thing or whatever is compared to yours. It’s like their words are the projectile vomiting of normal and polite conversation. One little tinge of a response from you towards their generic question and then, BLAARF!!! They don’t even listen to what you have to say because they are thinking of their next tall tale, claim to fame, or tragic event.

You tell them about the new bike you just bought your kid and they have to top your story with a bigger better one. They go on and on about how the new bike they just bought for their “Honor Student” from their husband’s brother’s cousin’s girlfriend’s parent’s shop is Eco-friendly. It has recycled gold-plated wheels, a vibrating recycled tire seat and a vanity plate that says “#1 Amazon Rain Forest Saver”. Oh, and 20% of the proceeds from the sale of the bike goes to support a dying Hindu tribe’s purchase of some new school library books about “compassion.” Top that!

You’re at work when someone says that you don’t look so good and are you feeling okay? You say that you feel a head cold coming on and your co-worker says, “Oh, that’s nothing! I have had a migraine and bronchitis for 3 weeks now, a cramp in my side and a bunion that just won’t quit”. Yeah, the One-uppers, we know them well.

I recently got into an accident and had to miss work because of it. The next day when I went in, instead of asking how I was, or if everything was alright with my car, my co-worker went on and on about the time he got into an accident how he had to pay $2000 in repairs and that his triple rear axle whachamahoozie went flyin’ out the cracked windshield like y’all never done seen! (Yeah, I work with a redneck). And he got a ticket for interfering with a police officer in the line of duty. So put that in your pipe and smoke it!

Like a mama bird, they catch the worm, chew it, swallow it, barf it out into the baby’s mouth, then do it over and over again until the baby is so full it shuts down and goes into a deep sleep. Yes, these one-uppers catch you as you pull your story, the innocent worm from the ground, to lovingly feed to your listeners and then they snatch that thing right from your lips and spew their regurgitated malarkey back out at anyone who will lend an ear. And those that don’t just go into the “uh-huh, uh-huh” trance of mindless “listening” while thinking about how the heck they can get out of this painful conversation.

After getting tired of this constant exaggeration of stories, a co-worker and I decided to see who could one-up the one-uppers the best without them realizing. I think I won. I worked in a retail-clothing store as an assistant manager, so when my manager was away I would have to run the store and report back to him. He asked how the day went yesterday while he was busy tanning. I told him three out of the six computers crashed, there was a huge line of irate customers, and the elevator broke so we had to call the repair man and pay him double time because it was a Sunday. He said, “Oh that’s nothing. Once I had ALL the computers crash, then I ran out of change and then I had to chase down 2 shoplifters with a cast on my leg.” I said, “Really? That’s amazing because once when I worked in the mall and a street gang held us up, I was on crutches too so I couldn’t run after them. The robbers took all the money from the registers, cut the phone cords so I couldn’t call mall security, and then broke my crutches so I couldn’t chase after them.” He said, “Well listen to this! A gang of hoodlums in NYC once threatened me after seeing Phantom of the Opera. They beat me and my wife down to the ground, stole our wallets and my 3 carat pinky ring and then peed all over my $1200 Italian Leather shoes”. I responded, “And that’s a bad thing? That happens to me every night on my way home. Urine is actually really good for your complexion.” It didn’t phase him one bit as he continued to spew out the torturous events unfurling around his puny and pathetic life. So I gave up. I just learned to let it go in one ear, whirl it around in my brain for a spell, make a humorous story about it, and let it come out on paper.

The one good thing about being around the one-uppers is that it teaches you not to complain. Who really wants to hear it anyway? I certainly don’t want to listen to their long painful rendition of their unfortunate life events and how they are so much worse off than me. So next time someone asks you how you are doing, do you give the programmed response of “Fine, thank you”? Or do you see how far, how radical, how outrageous your story can be and enjoy watching them try to top it? The latter sounds much more fun. Just like you can’t B.S. a B.S.-er, you can’t one-up a one-upper…unless you’re part of the club. Who wants to join me?