Category Archives: Working World

Unabashed mockery of work-related language

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Massage Tips

The rise of e-tailing has led to the decline of brick-and-mortar retailers. But personal services can’t easily by sent via UPS (or drone, for that matter). You can’t have a haircut delivered to your apartment, though you may — if you’re financially fortunate — have the haircutter arrive at your door for a few quick snips. Fortunately for bloggers like me, personal-service shops abound in NYC, and their signs are as loopy as any other sort, outclassed only by everything composed by the city’s Department of Transportation.

Shop owners who knead body parts for a living may be great at their chosen task, but they’re not necessarily good at advertising. Recently I saw this disturbing claim:

If your front-foot is sore, you’re out of luck.

This sign would be fine (though perhaps not effective) had it appeared in a vet’s office or a dog spa. But it’s in a salon devoted to bipeds. Grammar note: The hyphen creates a single adjective, a description of the noun “massage.” In this case “back-foot” implies a lead (front-foot) and a follower (back-foot). I wonder whether a person’s back- and front-feet correspond to their dominant hands. But that is a question for scientists, not grammarians.

Here’s another variation:

What kind of rub?

Now there’s no hyphen, just an artistic slant that leaves the meaning floating somewhere over the Land of Confusion . Maybe “back or foot rub”? Or “back and foot rub”? Personally, I like to know which body parts are involved before plunking down my cash.

The moral of this post:

Tips appreciated.

Not a gem of clarity either (“waxing massage”? “facial tips”? “waxing facial”? “massage tips”?), but, dreamer that I am, I choose to believe this sign refers to a veteran masseuse, eager to impart wisdom garnered over decades to newcomers to the profession.

Maybe even a few tips about hyphens.

Hyphens Needed

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Hyphens are the poor relations of the punctuation world. They hardly ever get the respect they deserve as regulators of meaning. Take this photo that my friend Deborah sent, for example. She snapped it at a spa. It’s a bit blurry, and so is its message:

Good luck arguing with the employees here.

My mother would have won “employee of the month” at this spa because she had the “silent treatment” down pat, having practiced it extensively on me and my brother. I bet you know a few experts at this tool for emotional extortion, too. Of course, the sign most likely refers to spaces where talking is not allowed during treatment. But why guess? A hyphen would clear up any confusion. “Silent-treatment rooms” are where you deal with a glacier masquerading as a human; “silent treatment-rooms” are where your masseuse or physical therapist shuts up.

Here’s another hyphen-challenged sign:

Calling all cold boxes?

Does this shop offer to store boxes that freeze your fingers when you touch them? If so, what’s in the boxes? Evidence of your latest serial killing? Or do the shop owners place room-temperature boxes inside refrigerators? And why would you want to hire someone to do so instead of storing your frozen food at home? Are you really that hungry?

I can’t end this post without mentioning two other friends, Ed and Don, who each pointed out a variation on the missing-hyphen theme: “one night stand,” which, hyphenated, could be furniture (“one night-stand”) or a fling (one-night stand). If you indulge in the latter, you get to visit the silent treatment rooms. . . er, I mean the silent-treatment rooms.

Political Speech

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I am not, in this season of completely unexpected but totally inevitable political events, going to talk about the language some presidential candidates have used for the size, shape, and function of body parts belonging to themselves and their loved ones. In that, by the way, I am part of a group small enough to meet in the elevator of my building. An elevator which, like most in New York, is not all that big. (There. I’ve justified including this topic in my blog by creating a microscopic link to New York City. Now, back to politics.)

In this post I turn my attention to how campaigns end – not that many do. Instead, candidates now “suspend” their bids for the nomination. “To suspend” is to call a temporary halt to an action, to pause before resuming whatever was suspended. It’s less permanent than “dropping out,” “ceasing,” or, heaven help us, “giving in.” Since the days of Richard Nixon, who famously said that he was “not a quitter” (and, at another time, that he was also “not a crook”), presidential hopefuls have suspended and not ended their efforts. Mostly. Mike Huckabee, who I expect would disagree with me on many issues, is my favorite campaign-ender. He said that he stopped running for president because of illness: “Voters are sick of me.” Now that’s honesty.

All this suspending makes me wonder whether the candidates are secretly hoping that at the last minute they will be called out of seclusion (“suspended animation”?) to become their party’s standard-bearer. And this year those hopes may not be entirely unrealistic. But what about other definitions of “suspend”? “The word also means “to hang something.” Because it’s “something” and not “someone,” I doubt this definition applies to any candidates’ secret hopes. Finally, “suspend” may be “to hold off punishment until a specified period of time passes without further offenses.” Politicians may hope that this definition applies and that they will escape punishment for their campaign excesses, but the rest of us . . . well, most of us view “without further offenses” as a poor bet. Like, awesomely poor. Epically poor. The greatest poor ever.

See? The language of this campaign is contagious. I’d better suspend this post now.

Oxymorons

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I’ve always been fascinated by oxymorons – phrases that appear to contradict themselves, such as “jumbo Shrimp” and “ground pilot.” My favorite is the single-word oxymoron “sanction,” which means both “impose a penalty” and “give official approval.” I propose extending the definition to include signs that fall into the category I call “visual oxymorons.” I see plenty in New York City. Have a look at this photo, which my husband snapped at a chain store:

To leave or not to leave, that is the question.

I’m wondering whether Jean-Paul Sartre, author of “No Exit,” is responsible for this sign. Or perhaps Joseph Heller, who wrote “Catch 22”? The door on the right, which doesn’t appear in the photo, sports an “enter” sign. So at least you know which door you can use to not exit.

Here’s another beautiful example of illogic:

To whom?

“Wholesale” generally refers to buyers who order a large quantity of merchandise and then sell the stuff to the public after a considerable markup. Nothing wrong with that; everyone has to make a living. In NYC’s Garment District, where many storefronts display samples of their wares to buyers from around the country, signs near the door often specifically bar the general public and advise that they are “wholesale only” sites. Not this store. You can shop there if . . . well, under what circumstances can you shop there? Note that the sign doesn’t say, “Wholesale prices for the general public,” which would make sense. The alternative wording has middle-marketers engaging in the business tactic known as “loss-leading.” They forgo profits on some items (those sold at wholesale prices) in order to attract customers, who would perhaps select other, more expensive stuff in addition to the bargain merchandise. Questionable business practice this may be, but at least the meaning is clear.

I could post more examples of visual oxymorons (and have – check out “And in Confusion” (http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=769). Instead, I invite you to snd me photos of oxymorons you’ve spotted (grammarianinthecity@outlook.com) . Use “photo” in the subject line.

Neither hair nor there

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Primates spend a lot of time tinkering with hair, and we homo sapiens are no exception. But I’m beginning to think that, when it comes to hair, “sapiens” (Latin for “sensible” or “wise”) should be changed to “stupidus.” The number of shops offering to change, remove, or add hair to some spot on the human body is impressive. The signs advertising such services – not so much.

What do you make of this sign?

Europeans aren’t human?

I get the distinction between “human” and “synthetic,” but somehow I always assumed that the category “human” included “European.” Silly me. And why mention “European” at all? Grown-in-America hair (or grown-anywhere-hair) isn’t good enough for this store’s customers? Then there’s “lace front.” Does the wig have a flapper-style band of lace at the front? Maybe the wig-wearer laces the wig to his or her front? If so, which part of the “front”? And how? Seriously, I’d like to know.

The previous sign isn’t clear, but the next probably means exactly what it says, a fact I do not find comforting.

All together now: head, hands, feet.

This store offers its customers a chance to have their hair blow-dried (and autographed, if you spend forty bucks on the “signature” service) while simultaneously receiving a manicure and a pedicure. Anyone who chooses all three services presumably sits like a starfish with team members stationed at all extremities (fingers, toes, scalp). New Yorkers are famously impatient, but if we’ve reached this point, “sapiens” does not apply.

Fatal Messages

Shop for . . .

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Who’s selling what, and where? The answers to those questions should be fairly obvious. Should be, but aren’t, as evidenced by the signs of New York, which increasingly appear to be written by people who assume we’re all clueless. In another post, found at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=735, I discuss a sign explaining that the drugstore has a “pharmacy dep’t. within.” (Oh good. I hate when pharmacists fill prescriptions on the sidewalk.) On the other end of the huh? spectrum is a “Sidewalk Sale Inside” sign. (See it at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=620).)

And then there’s the issue of what, exactly, is for sale. What would you purchase in this shop?

At least they're not roaming around the sidewalk.

At least the little guys are not roaming around the sidewalk.

I should point out that every item in the store windows, and everything visible behind the windows, was an article of clothing meant for small humans. These questions arise: (1) Why the imperative statement “SHOP”? Does this mean that “just looking” is grounds for ejection? (2) Why the plural noun “kids” and the singular noun “baby”? (3) Aren’t babies kids? So why “kids and baby”? (4) As the sidewalk outside the store was empty, why mention “inside”? I’m not discussing the missing noun “clothing.” The idea of shopping for people is too terrible to joke about.

Here’s another. Are you a big fan of holidays? If so, you may wish to purchase this one, at half price:

How much is New Year’s?

Think of the licensing fees you can collect next December! And here I thought the Christmas shopping season began right after Halloween. I guess it begins now, in early January, with the holiday itself on sale. Go for it!

Air, Scare, or Simply There

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My almost-seven-year-old granddaughter has recently discovered air quotes, the curly-fingered gesture that encloses spoken words in quotation marks. To make an air quote, you bend the pointer and middle fingers of each hand a couple of times, and whoever is listening or watching is supposed to know that you’ve distanced yourself from whatever you’ve just said. Air quotes are the bodily equivalent of scare quotes, the punctuation marks in written material that separate the writer from the quotation, as in don’t blame me for this dumb opinion or yeah, like I believe that. Both scare and air quotes are gestures of irony or sarcasm. Usually, that is. During my first year of teaching about a million years ago, I used air quotes to tell the class that I was quoting from a text, not using my own words. I didn’t find out until June (June!) that the kids perceived a particularly nerdy wave, not a punctuation mark. Sigh.

My granddaughter tosses out air quotes with abandon. (“I’m ‘nice’ and so are you,” she’ll say with active fingers, meaning that she and I are actually “nice.”) She enjoys the gesture more than its significance. No problem. She’s little and deserves time to experiment. I’m not sure the creator of this sign should receive the same leeway:

Come again?

I snapped this photo during New Year’s weekend, when this store and everything around it was closed for celebration or recovery from celebration. I’m still not sure what it means. Is the shop expecting a door bell delivery? Is someone hiding out inside, waiting for a package and not coming forth until the door bell rings? Does the shop owner know that the door bell is broken and “door bell” is a useless phrase?

I’m sure the letter carrier or package deliverer liked the John Hancock squiggle under the last line. I’m also sure that everyone reading this sign pressed the door bell, just to see what would happen. (I did. Nothing happened.) But that’s it. I’m sure of nothing else – certainly not the meaning. The sign is a mystery. Or maybe I should say a “mystery.” Your theories are welcome – really welcome, not “welcome.”

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