1:12pm
I wondered what it would be like to be in the world of the slightly taller people. It’s just the stories I’ve heard -- all the fun, superiority, and the flowery atmosphere around slightly shorter people's hair. I decided to document a day where I pass as a slightly taller man: I wear two pairs of socks. Wool.

1:26pm
My feet are starting to sweat. It's probably from nervousness.

2:51pm
At the super market I noticed a change in the atmosphere when I entered the nuts and coffee aisle. If it wasn't the other customers' gawking eyes, it was their silent attention that panned in my direction. I paid no mind and scrolled the colors of glossy bags and cans from a slightly higher angle. I found some arabic coffee and picked it off the shelf with a slightly higher hand. There was a tug on my shirt. He was the stock boy, yet he wore an apron: "Excuse me, but you're not allowed in here." He spoke in the ignorant tones that hail from the local trailer park.

The plan isn’t working. It’s time for another pair.

6:45pm
Instead of wallowing in my failed attempts, I rode a roller coaster for the first time in my life.

10:51pm
I just got back from a bar known to be exclusive to slightly taller people. This was the true test in passing as a slightly taller man. Long story shortest, I passed to much relief. Except that it was "transy" night, so I also passed as a woman dressed as a man as well.

8:03am (Epilogue)
Back to being slightly shorter... whatever it is, going back to an old life -- or your regular life after a short stint on a new, temporary, and hopefully paid for life -- feels like the end of a movie. I can't tell if mine was a happy ending or a tragic one.

I explained this to my friend, Sally, over breakfast at the diner and she flew into a tirade. “Dammit Manolo,” she yelled, “we are a people who should accept the way we are!”

She was actually of a slightly average height, but she had lopsided breasts with a slightly lower boob.