Paromologia (par-o-mo-lo’-gi-a): Conceding an argument, either jestingly and contemptuously, or to prove a more important point. A synonym for concessio.
“Oh yeah? So you are smarter than I am, but I am more taller!”
That was my comeback every time. If I wasn’t 10’ 9” tall, I’d never win an argument. It is surprising what an advantage being so tall is. The first time I heard Jimi Hendrix sing “Purple Haze,” I figured he was at least 1,000 feet tall when he excused himself to “kiss the sky.” He must have been some kind of sky god or something. I can’t kiss the sky, but I can kiss a basketball hoop if I stand on my toes.
Backin the day, I was a professional lightbulb changer. I worked in the Empire State Building and Chrysler building. I changed an average of forty-five bulbs a day, from incandescent to flourescent. My favorite “change” was the red blinking warning lights at the tops of the buildings. The view is great up there. If I bring my binoculars, I could look in the windows of apartment buildings nearby, especially the Sultan of Brunei’s condo in the Chrysler building. He had lot’s of guests. They danced naked and played Corn-Hole. It was fun to watch him puff his hookah, take off his turban and slippers, and jump into the fray.
I also enjoyed “bulbing” in the ladies restrooms. There’s one on every floor, so there was lots of action. At 10’ 9” I can sneak up and look over the stalls. I saw everything from deployed joysticks to the “New York Times.” Once, around Christmas, I saw a woman making snowflakes out of toilet paper. They were pretty good for toilet paper. She saw me peering in. She yelled “What the fu*k are you looking at?” I said “It’s ok, I’m taller than you” and ran out the door. That was a close call, but she didn’t report me. She yelled “What’s your phone number?” as I ran out the door. I yelled back, but I haven’t heard from her yet, and that was two years ago.
For awhile, I took a job with the federal government. I was a crowd surveillance technician. My code name was Tall Beam 22. I stood in the middle of crowds at demonstrations. I had a camera loaded with facial recognition software. My height allowed me to sweep the crowd, identifying chronic troublemakers and wanted criminals. My camera gave me grid coordinates, I reported them via my PRC-15 radio to the base, and they apprehend the bad guys.
Now, I am a part of a U.S. Army differently-heighted team—special ops: Long Legs Team 488 (Airborne). In Vietnam, we posed as rubber trees and palm trees doing recon work behind the lines in Laos and Cambodia. In Iraq, we posed as tall fence posts, monitoring roadsides and thwarting IED deployment. In Afghanistan we posed as circus acrobats and giants in our traveling circus, gathering intel as we signed post-show autographs. There are countless clandestine missions in our history that are classified Top Secret and can’t be reported here. Suffice it to say, identifying and apprehending the perpetrators of the greening of the reflecting pool is on our radar screen.
Well—there is a place for everybody and everybody has a place. At 10’ 9” I have found my place. Thank-you Uncle Sam.
The Daily Trope 