FRODO

 Being short definitely has it’s disadvantages. For the record, I’m 5’4. So, I’m always looking up at people when I’m talking. Unless, I decide to stand on a chair, but that always makes things awkward. This has also led to numerous derogatory anti-short people comments like hobbit, troll, smurf, shrimp, and even Willow. This reminds me of a story. I had gone out one night in college. My friend and I were walking to a 3am pizza place when we encountered a group of degenerates. No matter what, when you’re waking around at 2am and about to walk past a group, you can guaran-damn-tee they are going to say something. Most likely something rude, mean, or provoking. These guys were all around 6’4 and Pakistani. As we walked past the group I heard the chuckle and then the iconic line, “HEY FRODO, on your way to the shire!?” I stopped in my tracks. Laughter filled the air as these goons paraded around celebrating their victory against short people. They danced in the street. They high-fived each other. I slowly turned, looked the leader of this ‘kill the dwarves’ coalition right in the eye, started to fake laugh along with them and then said,

“You’re a little JERK PRICK.”

I might as well have dropped a live grenade because that statement declared war. All of the smiling came to a halt. High fives were stopped in mid-air. Then I was pushed. But it was a sequence of mini-pushes followed by “you got something to say dude?” I informed him that I had already said it. He takes a swing. I duck. I respond with a punch. In my mind, I imagined hitting this guy like I was Mike Tyson. I imagined me hitting him and him flying literally 10 feet through the air as if the Hulk just back handed him. In reality and in real time, my punch looked like it was in slow motion. Quick sand. If you’ve ever been in a fight in your dreams than you know exactly what I”m talking about. You always get your ass kicked. My hand just slide across his face and lips. Now begins the montage of me running while 5 guys chase after me. All to the sound of Hall & Oats “You make my dreams come true.”

I ran for a while, but the one guys legs were too long. He quickly caught up to me. My wrestling instinct came into play as I shot in for a double-leg takedown. He didn’t move. He was too tall. He just stood there. It was David vs Goliath. I tried to run while holding his legs, but his legs were sprawled back. He collapsed on top of me and then started punching me…in my ass. Not my head. Not my back or my body. My ass.It was a sick joke. “STOP PUNCHING MY ASS!” I screamed. After about 2 minutes of continuous ass-punching, I hear the sirens and see the blue and red lights. My attacker takes off running. The cop, who looks exactly like George Costanza, slowly gets out of the car. No rush whatsoever.  He approaches me with a stern look and then starts laughing uncontrollably. He leans on his car. Laughing. He rolls across his hood. Laughing. I got up off the ground and slowly walked home holding my ass.

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