Competition

Why are people so competitive? Fair enough if you’re trying to get an Olympic gold medal or win the world cup, but I’ve just come close to armed combat with my brother after a lively discussion over who’s had the worst injury. I mean, come on. (It was me, by the way.) But why do people try and one-up each other over things like this? It’s not much of an achievement, is it?

Like those people who walk up to a set of traffic lights and press the button, despite the fact that you’ve been standing there for the past minute. Do you think I don’t know how these work? Do you expect me to be grateful for your help? Why do you think it necessary to come and repeat an action that you KNOW I WILL HAVE DONE? Is it a strange power thing for you? A big ego trip for your odd rationality? Not a competitive action, I suppose, but something that really grinds my goat. Glad to have it off my chest.

But in reality, it’s odd things that we choose to get competitive over. Like meals. In restaurants. When someone else’s meal comes and it’s bigger than the one you ordered? The entire table’s eyes lock onto this plate as it descends in front of one lucky person who happened to order something that happens to be slightly bigger than everyone else’s. It’s not a big deal, yet there’s a silent envy and hatred that flows from the eyes of everyone else at that table towards that person, barely concealed by the fake smiles and congratulations, and exclamations like,

‘Ooh, that’s a sizeable lasagne,’

or words to that effect. I must admit that I don’t think I, or anyone else, has ever uttered the words ‘sizeable lasagne.’ If you have, let me know.

Differently, but not unrelated to the field of competition, there are kettles, as well (stay with me). There’s a line on most kettles nowadays that indicates a maximum filling point, and nobody understands why it’s there. What do we expect to happen if we cross that line? I don’t know, but I rarely do it out of sheer fear. And when I do, I feel at my most rebellious, then hide under the table with my fingers in my ears as it reaches boiling point, ready for it to implode like the death star as the bubbles become too much and the kitchen is suddenly overwhelmed by a slightly larger than maximum tidal wave of boiling water. But it never does, funnily enough. It just boils, same as normal, and life continues as it always has. Someone at Russel Hobbs is having us on, there.

I’ve had another thought related to the traffic lights thing as well. A similar thing happens with train doors. Why do people start hammering the ‘open’ button as soon as the train stops, or even before? Do they really think it’ll save that much time? I don’t know why this annoys me, but it does. It’s a strange thing, people want to prove that they have the situation under control to everyone in the carriage, because if they don’t, someone else might take over door duty, and the original door guard will have to endure the shameful stares of the carriage’s temporary occupants, all tutting about the time they’ve lost due to a leisurely door opening. Meanwhile, the new alpha at the door is hammering away at the open button as soon as the announcement comes over the loudspeaker about an upcoming station. I don’t know if this is competitive or just impatient. Either way, there should be some sort of law against it.