If you've ever heard a rap performance* you'll recognize the familiar call:
Throw your hands up in the a-ir. Wave 'em like you just don't c-are
I hear the line (and the hip-hop melody) in my head three, four times a week; not due to any feelings of nostalgia for rap days gone by, but rather as accompaniment to the near misses suffered at the hands and feet of various motor vehicle operators.
Four out of five of them throw their hands up in the a-ir and wave 'm like the just don't c-are.
As in, "I'm sorry I nearly creamed you with my car."
The most recent culprit, operator of a silver Hyundai Sonata was so intent on crossing three lanes from her barely stopped at the stop sign launching pad that she not only didn't see a body (mine) in the crosswalk she didn't even imagine one (in this case, mine) would deign to cross a street, in the crosswalk in keeping with the traffic laws of the land and right of way sensibility.
She saw me a split second after I saw her, which is a good thing because I could be dead. Or seriously injured. After slamming on her brakes, she threw her hands up in the a-ir and waved 'em like she just didn't c-are and mouthed, "I'm sorry."
The hyperbolic rage was automatic but also mostly in my head along with the hip-hop melody and call to arms. And while I did fix the Hyundai Sonata operator with a steely stare there was a note of forgiveness in the tone, for I've been through this before--threee, four times a week, in fact.
Still, once I saw her hands come up in the pleading, "I'm sorry" mode amd the familiar refrain danced in my head, the very next thought was the finish . . . somebody screeeeaaaaam!
*granted, mostly from memory as I haven't followed rap performances much since the actor was a teenager.