The short end of the stick

When I turn in my physics homework, I have to jump. The box is well above an arm’s reach, and when I hold my arm straight up, problem set in hand, the top of my paper just reaches the mouth of the box. Every Monday I have the same concern. Will I accidentally slip up this week and send my work sliding into a different class’s homework box? Will I have to track down my TA and explain what happened, or try and fish out the homework with coat hanger and gum? The majority of my class will probably never think twice, reaching up comfortably from their lofty 5 feet 8 inches or 6 feet 2 inches and then leaving the building without looking back. But sometimes it sucks to be the little guy.

When it comes to relevant social concerns, there are obviously multitudes that any ethical and conscientious individual should consider. There’s AIDS and illiteracy and homelessness and climate change. There’s animal testing to be contested and un-fair trade coffee to be shirked. It can be exhausting and empowering, trying to save the world, and often such an external focus distracts from discriminatory issues that face Duke students today. But for those students unlucky enough to be shorter than the average American, there are very real issues of discrimination that deserve notice.

In Starbucks last week, a barista did a double take as I ordered coffee. “Aren’t you a little young for coffee?” he asked. Just because I’m the same height as the 12-year-olds ordering hot cocoas and frappe-mocha-cappu-chocolate-ccinos (hold the coffee, of course!), doesn’t mean I’m the same age. There’s such a stigma, such a strong association of smallness with youngness. It’s a fair, biological association to be sure; generally the smallest people we interact with are the ones who are five, four, three years old. But don’t assume that because someone could apply for legal status as a midget it means they aren’t old enough to vote. Or drink coffee. You wouldn’t assume the student with glasses is any smarter than the one who opts for contacts or has 20-20 vision, yet I know people make assumptions about me based on my height every day. In restaurants waiters hand me crayons and kids menus. On Election Day, I’m given a kid’s ballot. One of my friends offered to buy me a step stool. The stool incident probably demonstrates more mockery than unintentional assumption, but you get the gist.

On top of the trials and tribulations of life as a short girl, consider being a short guy in modern America. People can be cruel. The discrimination that vertically challenged, high-school boys face come prom time alone is enormous. The nicer girls will of course say yes when a shorter guy asks. While other girls go back and forth between shoe/dress/jewelry combinations, these obliging girls are subject to weeks of surreptitiously trying to figure out just how short their heels (or even flats!) have to be. It’s always a struggle, to try and slip in, “Now exactly how tall are you?” into a normal conversation and often it’s easier to say, “Sorry, but I hear prom is more fun stag anyways!”

It’s true that life isn’t fair, but the stigma vertically challenged individuals deal with is all too arbitrary. What gives social pressure the right to force the image of a couple with a taller guy on us? The nice girls who subscribe to the knee-bending/slouching/flats-wearing prom experiences only perpetuate the belief that the girl must be shorter. Until the norm changes, until it’s acceptable for the prom picture on your parents’ mantle to boast a full foot height differential in the girl’s favor, being short will retain a negative connotation among men. I personally am holding out for the day that prom date options are judged not on their height, but on the content of their character.

Perceptions can be an extremely difficult social trend to change, and at this point I’m resigned to people entering my acquaintance with preconceptions based upon my height. Just like those who draw conclusions based upon my gender, it’s hard to change the first impression associated with meeting someone who is 5 feet 2 inches. But there are real, tangible things we can change now that would make the transition to a height-blind society easier. For instance, look at the shelves in stores. The Lobby Shop and ABP both sell items at a height that’s short enough to make you think any reasonable individual should be able to reach them sans stepping stool, but still tall enough that some of us just can’t reach. Small changes that make being short less of a physical hurdle will remove the association of shortness with inability to do basic things (like turn in physics homework!). Being short doesn’t have to mean you’ve drawn the short straw. I’m proud I never drank milk growing up, and I can only hope that some day, our community, too, can value non-discriminatory acceptance of all shapes and sizes.

Lydia Thurman is a Trinity sophomore. This is her final column of the semester.