The dangers of being tall in a short country

I keep whanging my head against door frames. The first time it happened I was going to the restroom in an Internet cafe, and I didn't notice the door was built for someone half a foot shorter than me. I saw stars and fell down, more stunned from the surprise of it than anything else. The proprietor had to help me get up.

The second time wasn't against a door frame, but against the rusty tin metal cover of the food stand outside of DDD. I was leaning in to choose a banana and smacked my head against the sharp tin edge, leaving an L shaped divot in my forehead. Now whenever I go to that food stand the Lao lady who runs it makes sure I stand well away from her roof.

The third time was the worst. At DDD, they have these metal roll-down gates that they lock at night, and when it gets late but people are still there, they roll them part way down, to just the perfect height for knocking out tall foreigners. I was in a rush to leave and I was wearing my glasses, which take out my peripheral vision. I smacked into the door at full New York walking speed, once again knocking myself down, and leaving a sizable bruise right in the middle of my forehead. The night watchman, a jovial sort, reacted like he was watching a replay of a soccer accident on TV. He whistled at my forehead and started retelling the incident to the passerby who started gathering around me, with full pantomime. Now, every time he sees me, he points at my forehead and looks at it with concern for a moment, then breaks into giggles and starts telling the story over again to anyone who happens to be nearby. The pantomime seems to get more animated every time. He especially seemed to enjoy telling the part where I fall flat on my ass.