The Challenges of Living in a World Built for Tall People

I’m not short; everyone else is just too tall

If I could change one thing about myself, it would not be my height. I’m five feet tall (in shoes). I don’t consider being short a flaw. We’re all adorable down here.

Nor do I walk around feeling short, unless I’m in one of those restrooms where the mirror was hung by a tall person. Or when I’m at the grocery store and the powdered peanut butter (perfect for smoothies) is on the very top shelf. I’ve gotten really good at climbing grocery store shelves when necessary. Usually, however, there’s someone nearby willing to help reach stuff for me.

But most of the time, I feel as if I’m a normal height, and everyone else is just too tall. In fact, I can’t usually even tell if someone is actually tall unless they’re really, really tall. If I ever witness a crime and the police ask if the suspect was tall, I’ll just have to shrug and say, “Everyone’s tall.”

Maybe this attitude — that I’m normal and everyone else is tall — is what compels people to occasionally say to me, “You’re really short,” as if it’s new information.

Jeans shopping used to be the one time I would wish I were taller. Fortunately, someone invented skinny jeans — and then someone else invented jeggings. Skinny jeans and jeggings are very forgiving about height. They never drag on the ground, no matter how many extra inches they may have. They just wrinkle up around my ankles without complaint. And when I wear boots, you can’t even tell that they’re too long.

There are also household tasks that can be a bit of a challenge for short people. A couple of days ago, my home office light burned out. I had a vague memory that, the last time I changed that lightbulb, I struggled with it a bit. There may have been a bit of a tantrum even. I couldn’t recall exactly what made it difficult — but I suspected part of it was probably that the screws that fasten the fixture in place are on the top of the light rather than someplace easier to reach. The vague memory of struggle and anger made me procrastinate — I’ve worked in the weak light of my desk lamp for the last few days. This morning, tired of the semi-darkness, I decided that I was ready for the task.

I have a small stepladder that I use around the house. Sometimes, it’s not quite tall enough for the job, and changing the lightbulb in my office light is apparently one of those jobs. It’s what I call a “Shakespeare Task,” because it requires me to stack the Complete Works of Shakespeare on the top step of the ladder to give myself just a little extra height. A dictionary would also work, I suppose, but I’m rather fond of my Oxford English Dictionary and don’t want to put stress on the spine. The old Shakespeare book isn’t looking too good.

Changing the lightbulb was a little easier this time, possibly because I was also wearing my work boots. Combined with the ladder and Shakespeare, they made me just tall enough.

The world is built for taller folks, but that’s okay. I’ve learned to improvise and problem-solve. I keep Shakespeare handy. Maybe I even fool my guests into thinking I spend a lot of time reading the bard. They probably think the spine is broken from the book being opened so many times.