“Holy shit did you see that guy?” or “Dude, Do you play basketball?” I hear that all the time when I leave my school's bubble. I often try to keep track of the amount of comments I get about my height. I usually lose count, because I no longer have any more fingers to count with. I tend not to mind many of the comments. My favorite is “How’s the weather up there?”
Sometimes I want to say something back to them. My mom has practically patented the word “Really?” Whenever a person mentions to her that she’s extremely tall, she replies “Really?” in the most smartass way possible. When I receive a comment I usually just continue on, but occasionally the person is fortunate enough to get stared down by me. I just give them the twisted look, the scowl that anyone would be intimidated by, not to mention that it’s coming from a massive two-hundred and forty pound, six—foot—ten guy.

Person: “You play basketball?” Me: “No . . . professional ping-pong player.” That is my usual reply to that question. What are you supposed to say to that? Honestly . . . Besides having all the wonderful comments and questions, there isn’t anything terrible about being tall, I mean gigantic. Most of the time the attention is fun and even enjoyable but sometimes it goes too far. But at least I always have the advantage when someone needs something off the top shelf. Anyways, I love helping people at a store get something off the top shelf so I can buy it. I don’t even get a discount. Tall clothing is a little bit more expensive by the way.