On the other hand

A right-hander discovers how difficult it is to live as a southpaw

By Eric Marks

Something sinister is going to happen on Aug. 13.
I should know - I got an e-mail telling me so. According to the sender, a revolution is coming! OK, maybe more of a revolt. A less-than-silent protest? On Aug. 13, 13 per cent of the population is poised to mark International Left-handers Day by symbolicly throwing off the domination of the right-handed majority. That is, presuming they've heard about it. I hadn't, until said e-mail appeared in my inbox. But, then again, I'm right-handed. Maybe I got the message by mistake. Maybe I'm the only right-hander who knows! Maybe I shouldn't even be writing this. Maybe there will be terrible consequences visited upon me for sharing this occult knowledge with the world. Everyone knows - you can't trust those lefties. They're different.
You know - sinister.

Sinister. It's a word cloaked in mystery, hinting at vague, secretive menace, a veiled threat or terrible potential. In my Webster's New Universal Unabridged dictionary, it's defined as "suggesting the approach of disaster, misfortune, etc.; threatening harm or evil; ominous; portentious." It can also mean "wicked, evil or dishonest, especially in some dark, mysterious way; as, 'it is somehow to their sinister interest.' " But its root is Latin, carried into modern usage by way of Middle English and Old French: sinistre, "on the left hand." Much has been written about how being left-handed came to be seen as a sign of evil habit or intent. What most of it boils down to is simple prejudice, the tyranny of the majority. The ancients assumed certain traits were natural and wholesome because they were common, and others unnatural and unwholesome, because they were uncommon. (In fairness to our ancestors, Many of us think no differently today.)
A general, cultural bias developed against the left-hand side, which was reflected in everything from literature, where right and left are often given symbolic meaning, to manners, such as greetings and seating arrangements. Some of the suspicion directed at left-handers in the past was superstitious (were left-handers witches?). Some reflected disgust (owing to the left hand's use, by right-handers of the middle and later ages, for certain indelicate acts of toiletry). And some was prudence: assassins were known to use the left hand to fatally stab their victims while the right or sword hand was clasped in greeting.
Today, while left-handers are no longer feared and despised on principle, the inconvenience of being left-handed has grown many times over. Mass production and mass marketing of goods has meant that almost every common object we encounter in the course of a day has been designed by and for right-handed use. Thus the challenge left-handers are issuing on Aug. 13: if you're right-handed, try to live like a leftie for one day.

Why not, I thought? After all, I already use my left hand quite a bit. I open doors - and tightly lidded jars - with my left hand. I use a fishing reel left-handed, and have been known to flycast left-handed, a practice which, when it succeeds, annoys the folks I fish with - usually because the wind is blowing from the right, causing their right-handed casts to loop around their necks.
As a typist, I am ambi-undextrous - limited to three fingers on each hand, but equally speedy with either. So I figured, how difficult can living one day as a lefthander be? Uncomfortably difficult, as it turns out. The day I spent as a lefty went something like this: Getting out of bed was easy. So was showering, getting dressed and making breakfast. I felt great. Then I tried to drive to work. Insert key into car door with left hand. Turn key left - no, wait, that locks it. Turn key right. Open door and get in. Buckle up - on the right-hand side. Insert key into ignition - on the right. Turn over engine and shift into gear - on the right. Release handbrake - on the right. My light switch and turn indicator, thankfully, were on the left of the steering wheel, but that's about it.
In the interest of not injuring myself or some innocent pedestrian, I resolved to suspend the experiment until I was safely parked at work. I was looking forward to sitting down at my computer keyboard, sound in my faith that QWERTY is handedness-neutral. But I discovered a couple of uncomfortable truths I had managed to overlook. The first is that my computer mouse was designed for right-handed use, notwithstanding that it looks like a simple, symetrical blob of plastic with only one, central key to click. What its designers neglected to take into account is that many keyboards only have one mouse port - and that when you plug the mouse cord in on the right side of the keyboard and move the mouse around to the left, you need twice as much cord to have the same degree of mobility. The mouse cord was too short. I quickly realized that a longer cord wouldn't solve all my problems. Whoever designed my workstation put more useable room to the right of the keyboard than to the left; there isn't really enough room for a left-handed mousepad, even if I had a mouse that could reach it. Even my office chair was an insult - thoughtfully designed to be adjusted while one sits on it, but only adjustable from the right-hand side.
I cheated, and adjusted it with my right hand. Then, with an extension cord on my mouse and a rearranged desk, I set to work. If you've never tried mousing with your off hand, I highly recommend the exercise. It's a great lesson in humility.
I continuously overshot or undershot the spots on the screen I was aiming at. My computer cursor - and the hand that was controlling it - seemed to have developed palsy. At the end of a half hour, the page I was working on looked as though it had been laid out with an Etch-a-Sketch.
In the interest of making my daily deadline and not losing my job, I resolved to suspend the experiment until after work.
On my way home - driving right-handed for safety, of course - I decided to stop and take some photographs in the warm, late afternoon light. I pulled out my camera, focused the lens with my left hand - and realized the shutter release button, light meter and film advance lever were all on the right. If I were really left-handed, I'd have to fumble with them with my less co-ordinated hand, or turn the works upside down and press the release from the bottom, probably spoiling the shot in either case.
In the interest of taking a photograph worth keeping, I resolved to suspend the experiment indefinitely.

This is what I learned from my day of attempting to live life as a lefty. It's a right-hander's world. It's not at all fair. And, if I was forced to use my off hand every day, in so many ways, I might seem a little sinster, too - or, at the very least, pretty surly.

(For more on Left-Handers Day, visit the Web site www.left-handersday.com To view a broad selection of goods designed specifically for the left-handed - even cameras - visit www.anythingleft-handed.co.uk.)