Knuckle Dragger

For a while now, I've wondered why people don't know what to do with their hands. Whether over drinks, at a sporting event, work, hearing live music, listening to another person speak—any place a person might find themselves standing up straight—there's some weird, almost impulsive, need to do something with the ends of our arms.

Is it painfully uncomfortable to just let 'em hang? Are we self conscious that someone's might be watching, and we could look foolish? What causes this need to hide a body part?

Myself, I usually opt to stuff my hands into pockets (usually pants, not jacket), or cling both to the strap of my bag. Guys sometimes employ the clasped-hands-behind-the-back-or-front move. Finally, there's the old stand-by, the tried, time-tested and true crossed-arms-at-chest. There must be plenty others I've overlooked. The question remains: how come it feels so clumsy or awkward to let ones arms simply hang down by his/her side, like a gorilla?

Waiting for the bus one morning recently, while I pondered this question, it suddenly hit me that I had no choice. I had to try to stand there slack armed, for as long as I could. Maybe even all the way until the bus came. Could I manage this? Was it even possible?

So I stood, arms down. And waited.

There in the sunshine, the strap of my bag stretched temptingly close to my dangling hands, it all seemed easy enough. I'm just standing here, right? Then, without warning or even conscious realization, my hands were suddenly in my pockets. What the....? Was I the focus of some inexplicable, pointless David Blaine illusion? Was I dealing with and taunting forces bigger than me? Bigger than all of us? Or was I, as adults so frequently reminded me, simply just worthless and weak minded? How else to explain a grown man trying to will himself into doing something as simple as doing nothing at all, being unable to resist this seemingly pointless urge?

Is it instinct, I wondered? Some where along our evolutionary line, had there been some practical reason we might need to conceal our paws? What other explanation? Is this some leftover from clumsy adolescence. And if so, why on earth does it endure?

Puzzled and incredulous, I took a deep breath to steady myself, gathered what pass for my limited wits, and reconciled to begin anew. Why was this so hard, and why did I feel so conspicuous? I feared people in passing cars would begin veering off the road into fiery explosions, so distracted were they by my senseless carrying on. At the very least, they'd almost certainly begin driving by, pointing, sneering, shouting obscenities, puzzled at the fact someone could actually behave so. And in public!

It would be tremendously satisfying (and frankly somewhat of a relief) if I could report that this science project going on solely inside my own head, had a definitive conclusion. Though the bus soon arrived, and I was somehow able to, with the mental strength of a shoalin master, simply stand there without finding some place to temporarily stash my hands, I've still no idea why this overwhelming urge. Or where it was born. The best I can offer for now is that, unless something in my life changes dramatically, and there's suddenly no reason for me to earn a living, there are an endless number of morning waits in my future. And an equal number of mysterious neuroses to untangle.