I never liked being tall: the sleeves and trousers are short, you beat around everything with your head, from people you see only the back of the head.

One day, still in school, I got a cold and went to the district therapist for treatment and hospital. When I entered the office, the doctor stirred me with a harsh glance over the glasses and said:

High is good. Get on the chair.

I thought it was an innovative method of inspection, dropped the tapes and clumped up on the tables standing in front of the window.

But instead of listening to the stethoscope and examining the throat with a stick, the doctor got curtains from somewhere and ordered them to hang.

Since I coughed during the hanging, the hospital was still given.