Oneupman(woman)ship

　

Oneupman(woman)ship

A Satire Based On Experience

A relatively attractive woman in her 30s and a passably handsome man in his 50s arrived at the same glass door of a convenience store at the same time. It was a hot, humid day and neither of them seemed to be in a pleasant mood. From observing the way they exchanged looks Doc figured a lot of their touchiness was shared experience, perhaps a recent disagreement.

Though Doc knew he was justified in having a foul disposition from working in the sun all day he chose not to let his circumstances color his temperament because life, at least his own, was what it is and he decided not to involve myself in their situation. He was six steps behind them and stopped short of the sidewalk to let the drama play itself out.

Being the old-school gentleman he thought he was, he begrudgingly opened the door for her.

"Ladies first," he said as a thinly veiled, halfhearted courtesy.

"Assuming I like being called subjective nouns? But let’s not assume," she replied curtly as she motioned for him to enter first. "How about obvious age before assured beauty?"

"How about disguised vanity before sincere niceties?" he countered as he motioned for her to enter first.

"How about false civility before witticism?" she responded as she motioned for him to enter first.

"How about uninspired glibness before astuteness?"

"How about misconstrued intend before emotional clarity?" she countered.

Because he was trusty and felt they were just warming up Doc finally stepped forward and squeezed between them to fling the other glass door outward so both doors were fully opened.

"Personally I tend to be a pretentious, self-aggrandizing buffoon most of the time," he confessed. "Still, necessity dictates on occasion, as the case is now, calling a truce with my own ego so I can scurry in and out of a place like this, like a sweet, un-stereotypical ragamuffin, and back across the street to that wannabe writer’s workshop where my kindred spirit may be awaiting a chance meeting. Either that or I suggest getting our own room if I chance upon a such a women and realize we unequivocally belong together."

　          　

They glared at him with suspicious, tempered awe as he bypassed them and into the store to buy a well deserved break time newspaper and soda.

"I don’t remember him. Is he one of the instructors?’ she asked the man while Doc was at the soda machine, not knowing or caring he could hear them through the opened doors.

"Ha, are you kidding? He’s dressed like some boring, average looking construction worker."

"You think he could be -"

"Some famous reclusive?" the man laughed. "More likely he probably fancies himself a crossword puzzle wiz, a dilettante at best"

At the counter Doc noticed through the window they were exchanging phone numbers, then saw the man pulling out his cell phone.

"How do you spell aggrandize," the man asked her.

When Doc stepped back onto the sidewalk carrying his momentary pleasures they parted their metaphorical Dead Sea to let him pass.

"But how?" she called out to Doc when he was twenty feet away.

"But who -" the man wondered loudly.

"By absorbing everything and living what I write," Doc called back to them.

As he approached his truck Doc wondered if either of them had actually been published or ever will be. Ironically he have, but life being what it was, long ago accepted the fact that the percentage of serious writers making a living from their efforts is disproportionally minute. At least to pay his bills he chose jobs he enjoy doing, Doc remind himself, while waiting for fickle fate’s seemingly evasive recognition.