He Stood 14 Feet Tall

Which is really tall. In fact, if you've ever faced a basketball hoop poised 10 feet above the ground, you have an idea of tall. To dig into this analogy a little deeper, you might have played basketball during the course of your life, and if you had, you might have possibly seen (I'm just saying this because in a long and reasonably impressive streetball career, I've seen it once.) a human dunk a basketball. It's pretty awesome, and if you have any pride in your defensive skills, (if you're someone who I've mentioned, plays or played basketball) something you will try and prevent from happening again with stunning focus and concentration.

However, getting back to my point, a human who can dunk a basketball, is still a human who, jumping at the full powers of his or her exertion, ends up far below the shoulders of a 14 foot tall man. This man, I might add, also had the proportions of a greek-gjod, and if one were to attempt such an aggressive move as a basketball dunk against him, would find themselves bouncing off a chiseled chest, and (unless said person was also blessed with crazy acrobatic skills) falling to the asphalt court where numerous abrasions would occur on said offensive player's skin, even with the totally best of outcomes.

Nevertheless, this was never about a 14-foot-tall basketball player, or the game of basketball at all. It was just a small sample of perspective of what a 14 foot-tall man (chiseled like a Greek-Gjod) actually resembles, confjronting modern humanids.

The man himself, stood on an escalator. It took him up from a subway station, which - designed to give normal people a sense of grandiosity, carried his huge form much more easily than the subway, that had delivered him to the station in much less comfjort. He stood on the escalator blocking the whole conveyance, much to the consternation of commuter's behind him, who wanted to walk rapidly up the 78 feet that separated the station's platform and the street level above them.

There may be a way to politely tell a 14-foot man built like a Greek Gjod to move aside, but not one person, impatiently stacked behind him on the escalator found it. They waited wordlessly until he walked off the escalator, and unjammed the floodgates of humanity backed up behind. He walked a few paces, and found himself at a busy intersection where a motorcycle cop was busy giving a ticket to a businessman in a suit, who was making dramatic gestures to try and get out of it.

He didn't give the scene a second thought, but did wait for the green walking man to appear on the crosswalk light. He might be 14 feet-tall, but he didn't need a 300 dollar jay-walking ticket.

The light changed, and he strode across the large street in nine steps. On the other side, he ignored the stares of office drones, and looked up to see the name of the small brownstone hotel, well out-of-place in this area of sky-touching structures, where business worth billions of dollars passed in and out of computers and cubicles. It read (stenciled on awnings) "The Savoy." He moved towards the doors which were rapidly opened by a polite red-uniformed doorman. He ducked very low, from long practice.

Inside, he straightened back up. This building was from a time that appreciated grandiosity. He moved purposefully down the hall, oblivious to the startled reactions of people moving towards him, talking on cell phones, looking at papers, or merely carrying briefcases. They all noticed before it was too late, and like cats, (or rats, or cockroaches, or any other nimble pest) lept aside before they were crushed by legs that were the size of a human torso. His destination was far down the hall where a neon sign used red letters to alert anyone passing through the place with working eyes, "COCKTAILS."

He stooped mightily to make it under the entryway, but inside was again built (and possibly larger than) his unique physical specifications. The place was dark, and screwed with his vision, and he stood there adjusting, as his eyes barely made out a long bar, a few tables by curtained windows, and a few black pools on the left he guessed were booths. A familiar baritone voice called out over a Billie Holiday track.

"Chance! Chance! Over here!"

His eyes pulled in five figures sitting on stools at the bar. One waved happily. He moved towards them. As he approached, the various weekdays became more visible in the reflected light off the mirrored bar. Friday, the happily waving gentleman set a low-ball glass on the bar, stood up, and embraced the 14 foot-tall-man around his right leg.

"Hey man! Great to see you made it!" He said, looking up at Chance's massive face staring down at him. A huge right hand dropped on Friday's head, and rubbed it like he was a kid.

"I couldn't be happier you wanted to see me." Chance said evenly. Altho, to be said, as a 14 foot-tall man, the mere act of anyone trying to physically hug him, warmed his soul beyond words, and instantly made him forget the hassles he had to endure to get here.

"I know it's early," Friday explained as he slipped gracefully back to his cocktail, "But something important came up in conversation, and we needed your advice." He took a sip, and looked up at his large friend. "Say," Friday smoothly changed the subject, as the bartender appeared close by, eagerly looking over at the 6'0" 186 lb, early-morning bouncer, who was so far out of his league he had already moved his gaze over to the booths where a dangerous looking rock-a-billy couple ate eggs and sipped Bloody Mary's. "What'll ya have?"

The bartender pricked up his ears at this, realizing excellent service was going to be the way out of his establishment being destroyed by a monster. The monster spoke at both of them. "It's pretty early, I guess I'll just have six double Tanqueray-and-tonics." Then he pulled two empty stools together, and sat. Each of the stools made strange groaning sounds, the kind of sounds a regular person is not likely in their lifetime to hear from an inanimate stool. But the furniture did their job, and held the giant off the ground.

As the bartender lined up, and filled six glasses with ice, Tanqueray, and squirted tonic from his gun into all of them, the weekdays all chimed in.
Monday: "Hey Chance!"
Tuesday: "How ya doin'?"
Wednesday: "Nice threads, brotha'"
Thursday: "Good to see yas again."

The bartender slid drinks at the large man across the bar in two salvos of three glasses each. Chance's huge fist engulfed the first glass like it was a toy, and he emptied it's contents, grabbed another, and another, another,another, and finally the last, dropping the glasses down in succession before the befuddled bartender.

"Another round?" The bartender asked softly.
"Yes please." Chance replied, then turned his attention to Friday.
"Now then. I come all this way, and don't kid yourself, I enjoy an early morning cocktail as much as the next immortal being. But you absolutely insisted on having my advice A.S.A.P.! So, what's the hell is so gjoddang important it couldn't wait?"

Friday looks up at the sitting Chance, wonders if he should tell this 14 foot-tall being about the benefits of nose hair trimming, and quickly abandons the thought. Instead he plunges into the matter which summoned the one entity (that he could get ahold of at this early hour) that would know the answer to the statement that had been brought up a mere hour before.

"Chance look," He said, suavely, "We came up with this idea, and wanted to run it by you before we went off all half-cocked."

While he said this, Chance had already downed another two drinks, and was grabbing for a third. Before he tossed that one back, he offered an amused,
"Go on..."

Friday moved closer, taking a sip of his drink like a prop, and making a sweeping gesture across the gathered weekdays.
"We came up with a great idea...well, not so much an idea, as a suggestion." He stopped, watched the lime floating in his Tanqueray-and-tonic, and decided to begin again. "Actually, it's more of an idea."

"Mmm-hmmm:?" Chance said with a base-note that rumbled through the gathered weekday's chests.

"Okay look," Friday decided to plunge on... "We know there are wishes to be had in this world, it's been placed in literature enough to know that we can believe in them...right?"

"Okay," Chance dropped another low-ball into this vast mouth. "Go on..."

"So if that's the case, and someone stumbles across something, or someone, somewhere, who grants wishes, or even just a wish..." Friday pauses uncertainly, like he may have just realized the 14 foot-tall Chance might not be the person he should be asking this question too. He stops, takes another sip from his glass, and decides to finish it off anyways. "Could someone wish to never make a wrong decision ever again? I mean, that's a pretty fjucking cool wish! But, I want your take on it, I mean, is that within the rules of wishing?"

Chance leaned over, and rested his massive arm on the bar, giving the stools a good reason to make sounds that barstools should never make. He slipped another Tanqueray-and-tonic past his mouth and let out a sound from deep within his body.

"HMMMMM..." He mumbled. The Weekdays all were staring now, intent on his answer, and he knew it. Chance (like us all) isn't above a little showmanship.

"I can spot a few unforeseen blowbacks from such a request. But, I have to say, not only is it within the rules of wishing...but that is a very, very good wish.

Happy Friday.