You know what really grinds my gears…?
One-uppers.
You
 know… The people that, regardless of what story you have just told is 
going to be nothing in comparison to what they or their best friend’s 
brother’s sister’s roommate once did at Brown University that now makes 
your story seem insignificant.
When
 I joined the Army, my father prepared me for this inevitability, as he 
had spent over 20 years in the service himself.  He had endured the 
ridiculous nature of this ritual. 
I figured he was embellishing a little.
Nope.  Not one bit. 
I
 was 22 years old when I enlisted, which in a pre-9/11 Army made me an 
“old man” in basic training.  Most everyone in my platoon was 18 or 19 
years old.   For some reason, however, everybody in my platoon had given
 up lucrative scholarships to play football for Big Ten schools or had 
gotten the maximum $40,000 cash bonus that the recruiting commercials 
always talk about.  They also dated the homecoming queen and drove 
ridiculous cars that, if I’m not mistaken, are now being used in the 
“Fast and Furious” movie franchise. 
That’s how ridiculous these “one-upper” stories would get.
Nineteen
 years ago I had jaw surgery to correct a birth defect and a severe 
under-bite.  When I went to my boss to take some time off from work for 
the operation, she proceeded to tell me all about how much worse her 
surgery was going to be and how she was going to be back to work in just
 three days, but she was going to give me the two weeks I was asking 
for, just to be nice.  Her surgery was to have her wisdom teeth taken 
out.  I still have the 14 screws in my jaw.  On the coldest winter days 
here in Maine, I swear on my father’s grave that I can feel the metal in
 my face.
See what I just did there?
I
 “one-upped” the wisdom tooth removal by making my post-surgical 
experience seem horrible and traumatic.  (Seriously, though… The second 
my wife gives me the okay that we can move to Texas, I’m putting our 
house on the market.)
In
 all honesty, most everybody has done this at one point or another in 
his or her lives.  I’ve caught myself once or twice and put myself on 
notice.  I’ve found that since then, I’m nowhere near as interesting as 
the people that I meet on the street that were in the Marine Corps Recon
 then transferred to the Army Special Forces and rounded their careers 
out in the Navy SEALs.  I simply can’t compete with that.   
But this one time, at band camp…..  
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