Short people problems are a daily reality that most of the world simply doesn’t see or understand. From unreachable shelves to uncomfortable furniture, those of us who are vertically challenged navigate constant obstacles in a world designed for taller individuals. This candid and humorous story, originally published on Little Old Lady Comedy, explores the frustrating retail experience that perfectly encapsulates the struggles short people face when simply trying to shop for clothes that fit both our bodies and our dreams.
There is an entire world out there I know nothing about. I can only see the very bottom layer, but so much more I can’t grasp; at least not comfortably or safely. The entire world is geared toward those who walk taller, live higher, and reach shelves I can’t. People like me are left below, forgotten, and overlooked. I try to fool myself into believing it is a positive experience. We both know it is all smoke and mirrors. A clever illusion designed to fatten the pockets of those who prey on people like us. They sell stools, heels, and hats; anything to fool the world into thinking we belong up there. Stores deliberately place items out of our reach. Chairs leave our feet dangling, and beds demand that we buy one of those stools or jump ungracefully, mussing the sheets. The world caters to tall people.
Beautiful exhibits decorate the windows of Barney’s of New York. Tilting my head to view the display in all its elegant simplicity, I see the graceful lines of the model’s form-fitting jeans, the oversized bag, and the towering heels of an ensemble I dream of wearing. The click of the sales assistant’s heels greets me as I walk inside.
Gesturing with her hand, as if to display the expansiveness of Barney’s, she says, “Welcome. Can I assist you with finding something?”
As she moves toward me, my eyes are bombarded with tightly covered, manufactured boobs, frozen in place but screaming for attention under fabric that costs more than my rent. Thesales assistant’s overly animated walk, in heels designed to maximize her Amazon-like height and bullet-shaped boobs, looks like the first float in a fashion parade.
Reluctantly, I raise my eyes to meet hers, but she is gazing over my head. I mentally check to make sure I’m standing in front of her. Yep, I’m still here, about seven inches below her line of vision, but definitely here.
“I would like to see the ensemble in the display in my size.”
The sales assistant’s eyes skim over my body — not in that I-can’t-wait-to-transform-you way, but in that are-you-kidding-me way that barely masks contempt. I shift uncomfortably, already anticipating the rejection.
“I do not think we have that ensemble in a petite size, but I can direct you to a section with styles designed to flatter tiny people, like you.” she says in a voice so smooth and modulated I can imagine it bottled like cough syrup: soothing, syrupy, and condescending, made for the cough that doesn’t know its place.
I stand my ground. “No, I really want to try the outfit displayed. I’m sure you have a similar outfit for short people.” I put it out there, yes, I’m short. It’s not a sin: it’s a fact of life. The sales assistant should be able to accommodate my fashion choices. Slowly, she turns, assuming I will follow her into the bowels of the fashion, past long-legged, skinny models rocking form-fitting pants, towering heels and oversized bags. A tiny smile hovers on my face.
Pausing in front of a rack of pants, she says, “Here are the pants on the window model. When you’re ready to try something on, please let me know.” I look at the rack. The pants right in front of me are 36 inches long. What woman wears 36-inch pants? I scan the rack from side to side, searching for a length of 25 inches. The sizeswithin my reach range from 30-36 inches. I do not understand why the longer lengths go on the bottom. I feel it’s a conspiracy against short people. I step back from the rack to see the upper shelves. The shorter sizes are clearly marked and all out of my reach. No stool. No sales assistant.
Grasping the shelf above my head, I step onto the bottom shelf and push the stack of pants aside with the toe of my shoe. Precariously balanced on the lower shelf, gripping the upper shelf with my left hand, I stretch my right arm as far as possible. I barely graze the last pair of pants on the stack. Flicking my fingers back and forth, I try to dislodge the stack. I feel the pants shift.
“What do you think you are doing?” soothing tone now gone; her voice now resembles raw whiskey poured on an open wound of affront.
Teetering, I lose my grip and tumble backward, landing heavily on my arse. From her Amazonian height, the sales assistant’s thinly veiled disdain stares down at me, as if it’s my fault I can’t reach the short sizes.
Scrambling up, shades of red suffuse my face and neck. Embarrassed, by the fall, by being short, by simply being me, I lash out at the sales assistant. “I am trying to reach my section, which you have purposely placed out of reach to humiliate and belittle me.” My voice climbs steadily, growing louder and louder, echoing off the refined walls of Barney’s muted sophistication in a satisfying screech.
Years of being short. Of not being part of the upper echelon. Years of being unable to compete in a world built for tall people. It fills me with indignation, and I stalk toward the door. My small steps defy the urgency of my exit, adding to my frustration.
Behind me, the salesclerk’s carefully modulated voice, now back in place, says, “I told you we didn’t have anything for you here.”
I turn, caught between impulse and irritation, something sharp and overdue. My anger is palpable, transforming me into a flailing tornado of arms and legs as I launch myself at the sales assistant. Colliding with her bullet boobs, we crash to the ground. As we landed in a heap in a heap of expensive fabric and tangled limb, I realized that, for the first time, the world was at my level.
I welcome her to my world.
Call-to-Action: Share Your Short People Problems!
Can you relate to this shopping nightmare? Have you experienced similar frustrations navigating a world built for tall people? I’d love to hear your own short people problems in the comments below – from unreachable shelves to awkward encounters, let’s commiserate together!
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