You might be over ten feet tall, but the door at the top of the stairs is at least six foot eight. And you're covered with mutagenic pickle glop. Squeezing yourself through the door is no worse than squeezing through the door of a little kid's playhouse.
You get into the living room, then pull open the sliding glass door and stagger out into your aunt's backyard. You stand up, feeling woozy as the last of the slime sinks into your skin and you grow a little more, ending up somewhere just abone eleven feet. You're a giant.
You're not really sure what to do, and your clothes are absolute shreds, but in the pocket of what were your shorts, you have your cel phone. You call your aunt in Beijing and tell her you drank the pickle juice in the basement.
"What?" says your aunt. "That's not pickle juice! That's a morphological formula I was developing for my lab research!"
"Uh, well, now I'm like ten feet tall," you say, underestimating your height.
"You stay there," your aunt orders. "I'm coming home."
You wonder how long that's going to take, but then suddenly your aunt appears in a flash of light. "Transporter," she explains. "After all, I am a scientist." She begins to inspect you. "Interesting. What a remarkable effect."
"What's going to happen to me?" you demand. "I'm a freak!"
She looks at you carefully, then raises her cel phone. There's another flash, and the next thing you know, you've forgotten all about the mutagenic pickle juice. Indeed, you have memories of going off with your aunt for a summer and having an extreme growth spurt, then staying at her place in the country while it continued while she home-schooled you. Then you got accepted to a college on the basis of your height, despite the fact that you've never played basketball. But you're over eleven feet tall and they can work with that.
However, you've forgotten all about your aunt's mad science, though she's told you to phone her if your remarkable growth spurt continues or anything else unusual happens.