I'm 6'3" And I Know It

 I was hoping that there wouldn't be too many "tall tales" that would occur since my first blog written in January (Life 75 Inches Off The Ground), but as expected, people still continue to be amazed by my height. I have been told by many that I am the most exaggerated person they have ever come across- from my height to my family size, hair, length of extremities, childhood, brain seeing people/numbers as colors, bluntness, eating habits, sense of humor, and most importantly...stories.

Exhibit A: I recently went on a high heel shopping rampage so I decided to wear my brand new blue high heels to work. My boss and I head to lunch at a sandwich shop named Potbelly's in downtown Chicago. The place is so packed that there's a line winding all the way outside the door. Like every lunch place in the Loop around noon, it is a cluttered mess. We start small talk about our weekends (of which of course I omit almost everything). Meanwhile, I'm mid-conversation and suddenly I feel a large object collide with my head, which is immediately then followed by a resounding WHACK. I'm not talking about some run of the mill "whack". It was so loud on impact that everyone looked around to see what had happened or broke. No need to fear! It is just the giant girl who is obstructing the way of a pulley system that goes all the way across the shop. Lo and behold, because the sandwich shop is so busy, the workers take orders at the door and then send a clipboard (with great velocity, I must add) across the ceiling of the store along a pulley system, with no expectation that some female who is 6'7" to 6'8" in heels will be in the way. Since so many people were anxiously waiting for my reaction, I tried to lighten the mood with something along the lines of, "Welp, I guess today wasn't the best day to wear heels," but people just continued stared in wonder. My boss even took a couple steps back in hopes of not being associated with me.

When wearing heels, I always have to be on my toes (in more ways than one) for every situation. I was out with friends one night talking in a circle when suddenly I feel hands grab my ankles and sensually run all the way up my legs (and embarrassingly also up the back of the INSIDE of my shorts). Thinking that this person must be someone that I know (hopefully really) well, I turn around with a "Hey!" face ready to be displayed. My "Hey!" face quickly melted into a "What in the world?" face. Not only was it is a stranger, but this person was also a female. Her response to my bewildered face was, "You have the longest legs I have ever seen." She then walked away as if nothing had happened.   

    

Another enigma of mine is that tree branches always seem to pop out of nowhere. Take my senior year of college, for instance, when I was walking to a football game with all of my friends. I was deep into conversation and suddenly was yanked backwards as if being pulled back on a leash. Apparently everyone else who I had been walking with had made the height cut except for me. It took the combination of ten minutes and two other people to rip my hair out of the branches as onlookers pointed and stared in amazement. I consider the mangled clump of hair that is still hanging from that tree to this day as homage to all the people who have called me a tree growing up. "Going green" has a whole other meaning to me now.

Or there's the time that my hair got stuck in a fan at a college bar my last year of college. However, I still have such a hard time coming to terms with the shame and embarrassment that ensued that I won't even get into the details.

This past winter, I was walking home alone at around 3am (a really bad habit of mine) on a Saturday night. I was crossing the bridge over the Chicago River that is directly across from my apartment building, when suddenly I hear, "Excuse me, miss!" from behind me. I look back and a police man in uniform is running to catch up with me. Assuming that he is going to chastise me for walking home alone in the wee hours of the morning, I immediately reply, "I promise I'm fine. I live just right over there [pointing in the direction of my apartment building] so I'll be home in no time." He replies, "No, no, no. I just wanted to let you know that you have the biggest, most beautiful feet I have ever seen." A little caught off guard, I laugh out loud, thinking that he must be joking. And boy was I wrong -- he was far from joking. His face was eagerly waiting for my response. I told him that I should probably head home, and he spurts out with a completely serious face, "I just have to ask you one thing. Will you take off your large heels so that I can smell your feet?" Amidst my bewilderment, I start to sprint home without even responding to him, which in my opinion is the biggest feat of the night (no pun intended).

A couple weeks ago, I was walking home from work and was waiting at a stop light to cross the street. Some random little guy taps me on the shoulder and asks if I would take a look at the video on his phone. Being the pushover that I am, I said that I would. Little did I know that it was a promotional video for the Easter Service at some Jewish Church downtown. I immediately tell him that I already belong to a church and start walking away. As I am making my escape, he yells across the street, "But we even accommodate for tall girls like you!" To this day, I have no idea what that means. More pew space for longer legs? People who are understanding if you are blocking their view of the Pastor? Larger prayer mats? If it entails a plethora of men who are above 6'6", then sign me up.

A couple weeks prior to the aforementioned Jewish tallvangelism, I was taking the elevator up to my office and minding my own business as I usually do. A middle-aged man enters the crowded elevator and I can immediately tell from his initial feet-to-head scan of me that he's going to say something priceless. As foreshadowed, he proclaims, "You are the tallest girl that I have ever seen!" You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but one cannot prepare themself for comments of this blunt magnitude. With all eyes on me, I meekly reply, "Thanks?" (To this day, I still do not know whether this comment should be taken as a compliment or not.)  After the man exited the elevator, one of the remaining witnesses asks me, "How annoying does that get?" Naturally, I told him that I'd marry him on the spot for understanding what I go through. 

When I go out, I usually get on average one or two "tall" girls per night who say that they really respect me for being confident enough to wear heels because they won't even come near to anything that would make them taller. However, I get mixed responses from guys. These responses range from some guys asking if I will pick them up so their friends can take a picture of them being cradled by a Glamazon (for lack of better words) to guys who ask if their friend can take a picture of me putting my foot on their shoulder. (Yes, I have received both.) This past weekend, a guy pulls me aside and goes, "I have to ask...why do you wear heels?" I give him the usual response- tall girls are just as entitled to wear heels as short girls are, blah, blah, blah. He frankly responds with, "But you being that tall is not even attractive. I'm 6'2" and personally guys don't think anything taller than that is attractive." My friend, who is witnessing all of this a couple feet away, promptly told him to, "Go [insert swear word here] yourself."

Friends have told me that they don't even like walking around with me because they feel self conscious due to all the staring. Even my mom once admitted that she forgot what it's like to walk around with me. And this was at a measly grocery store. I've come to the point where I'm so desensitized that I don't even notice the stares anymore. I used to keep a daily running tally of how many tall comments I got, but mental math has its limits. When I walk down Michigan Avenue, I'm a bigger spectacle than the magic tricks and drum shows that the Chicago street performers put on. 

Only tall people will sympathize with me on this one, but we are ALWAYS the person in the back of photos. "Let's take a picture! Jane, get in the back." I'm always the small(ish) head in the back that peaks over everyone else's heads. Just so you know, we would like to show off our outfits just as much as everyone else does. Dancing is also an enigma for tall girls. Because our heads are a good foot higher than the rest of the crowd, people are naturally drawn to inspecting our moves. So. Much. Judgment. (Of course, given my SUPERB dancing skills, I don't fall into this category, nor have I ever felt this pass of judgment.) Most tall girls often resort to the signature awkward sway-and-snap dance move. Seriously, keep an eye out for it.

When you wish you could be taller, just remember that this might entail being hit in the head with a flying clipboard, being asked if a policeman can smell your feet, literally becoming one with trees, and being molested by female strangers. Moral of the story: be careful what you wish for. As my equally tall friend so eloquently put it, the song "I'm Sexy and I Know It" by LMFAO has a more appropriate name for girls of my stature- "I'm 6'3" and I Know It."

Life 75 Inches Off the Ground

 

Fitting in is a foreign concept to me. And to be honest, I was never really given the opportunity to fit in. I hit the 6 foot mark in the 6th grade and was standing tall at 6'3" by the time I was a freshman in high school. I played all the sports that a tall girl was expected to play- basketball and volleyball. However, much to the chagrin of the track coach, I drew the line at those two sports. I stuck out in my teens no matter where I went (which can be evidenced by my nicknames in high school- a healthy amalgamation of The Jolly Green Giant and Big Bird). 

Needless to say, throughout college I felt pretty normal since most of my volleyball teammates were around my height. We all stuck together like a pack of wolves (or I guess pack of giraffes would be more fitting). College came and went and I recently took a job in Chicago. I thought that by moving to a big city I would blend in more, but I have witnessed quite the opposite effect here. Chicago has only intensified and increased the number of comments that I receive. I've been through it all- the gawking, the comments, the small clothes, and the limited space.

First of all, I must address the gawking and the comments. Why is it socially acceptable to comment to a tall person how tall they are, yet pointing out the height of someone who is short is frowned upon? I couldn't tell you the last day that I did not get a comment about my height. "How tall are you?!" "Do you know that you're tall?" "What's the weather like up there?" "Can I take a picture of you back to back with me?" "Do you date short men?" "Our babies would be huge." "You are one tall drink of water!" "Do you play basketball?" "Can you dunk?" "Do you model?" Or one of my recent favorites, "Do you play in the WNBA?" If one thing is for certain, it is that people do not hesitate to remind me that I am abnormally tall on a daily basis. If I really want to throw people off when they ask me how tall I am, I respond to them that I'm 1,905 millimeters. That usually buys me enough time to escape amidst their confusion and mental math.

Putting the number of inches aside, I also don't lack in the number of stories. 

You know you're tall when a mime in downtown Chicago comes out of character and runs up to you to tell you how tall you are. To make it worse, the tourists started taking pictures of me hovering over the not-so-mute mime who was painted from head to toe. He then proceeded to offer me a position as an extra in movie that he was going to be in. Sadly, this is just the beginning.

A couple weeks earlier, I was denied from going through the brand new body scans at O'Hare Airport because of my height. The TSA worker had to escort me to one of the older machines across the room that would be able to scan my whole body. Twenty minutes later and half a Cinnabon in, I overheard a random lady with her back to me say to her friend, "Did you see that tall girl who couldn't fit through the security machine? How embarrassing!"  And the saddest part? I originally didn't even think twice about it.

I was once at a liquor store and one of the workers asked me, in all seriousness, "I can't find my ladder. Would you mind grabbing that handle of vodka for me?" When I go to any grocery store, something about me must scream "I would gladly grab that can of soup from the top shelf for you."

At the street fests of my alma mater, Ohio University, my friends' mottos were to "meet at Jane" if they got lost or separated from the group. I was practically a walking landmark. I'll just put it this way- we always were able to stick together. Keg stands were also an enigma. I try to keep my distance from them as I have become acclimated to being dropped due to people not able to support my height/weight. Noted: going face first into a keg is not one of the classiest looks for a girl.

I was on the train last week and witnessed a man blatantly taking a picture of me on his flip phone. It was just as I was about to get off at my stop so I removed my headphones, placed my hands on my hips, turned towards him, and struck a pose before I exited the train. I think it's safe to say that he'll never do that again.

If I go to a bar, it's almost a given that some short man will ask to take a picture with me. I couldn't even begin to tell you how many random pictures of me there must be floating around on Facebook. One of my roommates in college actually came across a picture on Facebook that a random person had snapped of me. Its caption? "That is one TALL chick." If I wear heels to a bar, the DJ may as well just pause the music because the whole bar will act like they've never seen a girl over 6 feet before (granted I'm probably 6'7" or 6'8" at this point). People will "discretely" pretend to pose for pictures in front of me in hopes to snap a picture of the Amazon woman who is bold enough to wear heels. I even feel people behind me measure up to me. Hello, I can feel your body rubbing up on mine.

Which leads me to my next argument: heels. I wear heels almost every single day- to work, bars, grocery stores, gas stations, public restrooms, etc. The classic response to this is, "Why do you wear heels? You're already tall enough!" I have the right to wear heels just as much as any legal midget does. It should be noted that girls don't wear heels solely for the height. They change the way you walk, make your legs more attractive, and are generally cuter than flats. 

For some reason, being tall also equates into being manly. I have no shame in admitting that I've been asked if I'm a man before. One time in college, a transvestite approached me, asked me how tall I was (surprise, surprise), and then blatantly proceeded to ask me, "I've gotta ask, are you a tranny?" (S)he was 100% serious. I probably laughed for a straight hour. 

I've even considered renting out advertisement space on my shirt due to how much people gawk at me. I'm telling you, with $5 a character, I could make a killing. If that business happens to fail, I'm just going to resort to a shirt that says, "To answer your question, I am 6'3" in big, bold letters.  

I wish everyone could witness the connection between tall complete strangers. I would almost consider it a secret society. If I walk past someone who is tall, there is a mutual understanding that occurs. Both of us will smile at each other with an I-know-what-you're-going-through look before resuming walking.

Anyone of normal height who is reading this should never take general activities for granted. This is coming from the girl who thought palming a men's basketball was normal until high school for Pete's sake. If I go indoor tanning, I have to decide whether I want my head or my feet tan because the tanning beds never cater to girls of my . . . errr . . . stature. Dressing rooms are practically null and void for me. It's not like people can't see half my naked body looming above the door. I recently came to the conclusion that I've never really experienced a head bump- it's usually more of like a chest/head bump. Additionally, you can complain to me about not being able to find clothes once you wear a 38" inseam and size 12 shoes, both of which are my nemeses. Finding clothes is practically a part-time job. I couldn't tell you the last time I was able to buy pants from an actual store, versus buying them online. Capris are in style only so often.

Believe me, in the end, I ultimately love being tall. Heck, it got me through a Division 1 college without ever having to pay a dime (except to fork out money for unusually large clothes or a bar tab here or there). However, if you ask me if I play basketball, do not look surprised when I respond, "No. Do you play mini golf?"