An Investigation Into the Private Behavior of Otherwise Respectable Adults

Human beings are dignified creatures. We wear clothing. We use silverware. We attend meetings. We shake hands. We say things like, “Wonderful seeing you again,” even when we have absolutely no recollection of who we're talking to. Civilization depends upon maintaining this image. But civilization has one enormous weakness: sometimes we're alone... And the moment a human being becomes reasonably certain nobody is watching, approximately 40,000 years of social development disappears.

There is Public You, and there is Unsupervised You. These are not the same person. Public You eats food from a plate. Unsupervised You stands over the kitchen sink at 11:46 p.m., eating leftover chicken straight from the container because, apparently, sitting down would make this an official meal. Public You bends over to retrieve something from the floor. Unsupervised You looks at the television remote near your feet and thinks: "Mehh... I have toes."

And suddenly you're operating a second pair of hands. You grab the remote with your foot, lift it halfway to your waist and transfer it to your hand with the precision of a circus performer. Then you experience a tiny moment of pride. Still got it! Got WHAT? Remnants of monkey feet from possible tree-dwelling ancestors? When did this become a skill? Nobody knows. But if someone enters the room during the transfer, you immediately drop the remote. Apparently, using your feet as primitive hands must never become public knowledge.

Then there's the mirror. Everybody behaves differently around a mirror when nobody else is present. You stop, turn sideways, straighten your shirt, maybe suck in your stomach, lift your chin, try another angle, perhaps make a facial expression you've never made in the presence of another human being. Then somebody walks around the corner. Immediately, you become deeply interested in the mirror itself. Hmm. Nice mirror. Very reflective. You definitely weren't standing there imagining yourself on the cover of GQ. Or at the very least, what you would look like with a bit of liposuction.

The same thing happens in the car. When you're alone, your vehicle becomes Madison Square Garden. A favorite song comes on. Volume up. Suddenly you're Freddie Mercury. The steering wheel is a microphone. The dashboard is a drum kit. You're hitting notes that technically don't exist. Then you stop at a red light. Still performing. You glance left. There is a woman in a Honda staring directly at you. Concert canceled... Your face goes completely neutral.

You adjust the air conditioning. Maybe check the mirror. You are now an accountant named Gerald commuting home from a regional insurance conference. Nothing musical has ever happened inside this vehicle.

Of course, getting caught singing is survivable. There are worse discoveries. For example, every human being has at some point engaged in unauthorized nasal maintenance. Let's stop pretending. You're alone in the car. Something requires attention. You perform a quick reconnaissance mission. Nothing dramatic. Routine maintenance. Some used to refer to it as "Nasal Mining". Then you look toward the vehicle beside you. Someone is watching. Oh. Oh, dear God. You immediately withdraw. But it's too late. They saw everything.

Now your brain attempts to manufacture an explanation. Perhaps you weren't picking your nose. Maybe you were... scratching it? So you begin rubbing the outside of your nose vigorously. Yes! That's it! I have allergies! Unfortunately, this defense has one significant weakness: The witness saw your finger disappear up to the second knuckle. There will be no acquittal. Take the plea bargain and do your time.

Equally dangerous is the private scratch, near your privates. You're alone. An itch develops somewhere society prefers not to discuss. You scratch. Someone appears. Instantly: "Where are my keys?" Now you're patting your pockets. Front. Back. Other side. "I know I had them..." Sir, your keys are sitting on the counter. Nobody asked where your keys were. The prosecution would like to remind you that you introduced the keys into evidence. We can now interrogate you as to why you were scratching your butt with such fervor. And why in the world would your keys be back there?

And then there's clothing. Specifically, the ancient ritual known as the Sniff Test. You find a shirt. Is it clean? There is apparently only one laboratory procedure available: sniff. Uncertain. So naturally, you smell another section. Apparently we're gathering multiple samples... sleeve? Acceptable. Collar? Questionable. Armpit? WE HAVE A RESULT, AND IT AIN'T GOOD.

You stand there evaluating the garment like a forensic chemist. “I think it's got another day.” Based on what international standard? Nobody knows. The Geneva Convention probably has something to say about it.

Food receives similar scientific scrutiny. You open the refrigerator and discover a container whose age cannot be determined immediately. You remove the lid. Sniff. Clearly bad. So what do you do? You smell it again. WHY? Did the food request an appeal? “Hold on. Maybe I judged you unfairly.” Second sniff. Nope. Still smells like something requiring burial. Human beings apparently refuse to accept olfactory evidence without independent verification.

Then we have talking to ourselves. A little self-talk is perfectly normal. “Where did I put that?” Fine. But sometimes you suddenly realize you've been participating in a full conversation, not muttering, but dialogue. “And that's exactly what I should've told him, because if he'd said that to me again, I'd have said...” Wait. Who are you talking to? Nobody. Worse, you're often replaying an argument from three days ago. And you're absolutely destroying the other person this time. Your responses are flawless. Devastating. “Oh yeah? Well let me tell YOU something...” Where was this magnificent comeback when the actual argument happened? Three days ago you said, “Well... whatever.” Now, alone in the kitchen, you're delivering closing arguments at Nuremberg. And you win. Of course you win. You're playing both sides.

Perhaps the most primitive behavior emerges when we're eating alone. You open the refrigerator. You're not hungry enough for a meal. But there is cheese. So you remove one slice. Eat it. Still standing there. Another slice. At no point do you close the refrigerator. You're simply illuminated by its little interior bulb, eating cheese in silence like a raccoon who recently obtained a mortgage. If somebody walks in, you suddenly feel compelled to explain. “I was just getting something.” Yes. We can see that. You're holding half a block of cheddar. Nobody accused you of anything. That's a lot of guilt for a life-sized raccoon.

But being caught is the great equalizer. That's what exposes the enormous distance between the people we pretend to be and the strange little goblins we become in private. And perhaps that's okay. Maybe everybody needs a few minutes each day when nobody is watching. Sing terribly. Talk to yourself. Pick things up with your toes. Eat over the sink. Inspect questionable leftovers twice. Conduct whatever discreet scratching operations are necessary.

Just remember one thing. Before surrendering completely to Unsupervised You, make absolutely certain you are unsupervised. Because somewhere, at this very moment, a perfectly respectable adult is alone in an elevator. They check themselves in the mirrored wall, turn sideways, suck in their stomach, fix their hair, make a strange face, maybe perform one tiny dance move because the lobby music has unexpectedly slapped. Then they notice something in the upper corner... a small black dome. They freeze. Security camera. Suddenly, every questionable decision made in the previous thirty seconds begins replaying in their head. How long has that been there? Is somebody watching? Is it recorded? Is there audio? I didn't touch my nether regions, did I?

Meanwhile, somewhere downstairs, a security guard slowly lowers his coffee. Neither person will ever speak of what happened. Because that's the final rule of civilization: We all know what humans do when nobody is watching. We just agree to pretend... we didn't see a damn thing!