|The Tall T (Photo credit: Wikipedia)|
Believe me, I had nothing to do with it. Genetic dice were thrown, and the end result is that you are 5'2" and balding prematurely at twenty-seven. Besides the fact that I'm over a foot taller than you and still have a full head of hair as I rapidly approach forty, there is no connection between your stature and my ability to reach the high shelves in the supermarket. I had about as much control over your genetic makeup as I did mine, and see no reason why I should have to suffer for your vertical shortcomings.
So why do I have to deal with it every time I bump into one of you? Obviously, I don't mean all short people. That would be quite a lot of conflict wandering around under chin level for a guy my height. We're mostly talking about men under five and a half feet who body build to overcompensate for their height-fueled inferiority complex and turn everything into a pissing contest.
This especially goes for cops and business types. Any guy wearing a badge or a power tie and is inching around five feet is almost guaranteed to be a volatile powder-keg of Napoleonic rage, just waiting to flex his self worth issues on anyone whose nipples are higher than his shoulders. Which means I have to immediately deal with an attitude and confrontational tone that you would think is unnecessary in a civilized society.
Great, so you have to ask your wife to get stuff out of the high kitchen cabinets, and you have to look up to make eye contact with most teenagers. Don't take your midget angst out on me just because women don't like dating short guys, so you had to settle for some diminutive post-emo scrapbooker with severe daddy issues. I'm sorry, but you must be this tall for me to give a shit.
Long story short: Life isn't fair, and not everybody gets to go on the big-boy rides. Spend your tickets at the Ting Toss booth and get out of my face. I have ceiling light bulbs to change.