Unmentionables

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This morning, for algorithmic reasons beyond my comprehension, a video of a woman squeezing herself into some sort of elastic tube appeared on my social-media feed. Her message, after the tube had turned into a tourniquet around her waist, was that this garment hurt. Well, duh. Call me old-fashioned, but there are a few things I’d rather not see. Or know, such as what this sign means:

I know it costs $4. I know that the number one and “Pcs” don’t match. I don’t want to know what an “ashtray glass bra” is, much less buy or wear one. In case you’re wondering, this sign was in front of a (strapless) jar.

Nor do I care to discuss this sign:

Is $12 the sale price? Or are the bras even cheaper, now that they’re on sale? Are they made of glass ashtrays? Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.

Moral of this post: The Victorians called underwear “unmentionables” for a reason. A good reason.

Tense Teaching

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Labor Day has passed, and school has begun. Like autumn leaves, rants from nonteachers about what’s wrong with our schools/teachers/kids pop up, exasperating pretty much everybody who’s ever actually entered a classroom and tried to educate some kids. It seems like a good time to examine a photo my friend Catherine, a fine teacher, sent me:

Catherine spotted this in a doctor’s office, where the medical staff either believed that their patients already knew everything or saw the task of educating them as hopeless. Or, more likely, the docs were too busy filling out insurance forms to tuck some pamphlets into the container.

But there’s another way to interpret this sign. It labels “education” as “patient.” In my opinion, that’s what true education is and what teachers must be. Patient people know that change takes time. And time is tense  (not the physical and emotional state, though “tense” is what anyone would feel after spending the day with twenty squirming, wish-it-were-still-summer, small beings). In grammar, tense creates a time frame.  

Teachers work in three tenses. They must take into account what their students already know (past tense) and what the kids are doing now (present tense), be it wadding gum into the spout of the water fountain or solving long division problems. Invisible but most important is the work teachers do in and for the future. Good teachers don’t simply impart information. They cultivate critical thinking, healthy life habits, and an appreciation of others’ perspectives. They don’t see immediate results. But those seeds grow, slowly. In the future, what teachers planted — they can only hope! — matures and ripens.

I have one more sign for all nonteachers espousing unfounded and unfunded ideas about education:

 

 

Politicians and pundits: Go ahead and disturb all the classes that aren’t “in session.” Then take a moment to thank teachers for creating our future.

Grammarians in Other Cities

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New York is generally the city  this grammarian is in, but not always.  On a recent trip to Washington, D.C., I found myself puzzled by more than politics:

This sign was in the window of a shop specializing in shipping and receiving packages. At first I thought the clerks were tired of inquiries about a service they did not provide, but the walls were lined with mail boxes. My next theory was that the sign would disappear when the mail showed up. Over the course of four days, though, the sign remained, even at night. My third and final thought — though I’m open to suggestions — is that this sign is an existential statement (“The mail is not here because it, like life, is an illusion”).

Before I returned to New York to retrieve my all-too-existent mail, mostly ads and bills, I walked around the capital. Tiring, I headed for the metro on 12th Street.  I was heartened by the fact that I was currently on 13th. Only one block to go, I thought. Wrong! Here’s what I saw at the next corner:

That’s it for Washington. Friendly grammarians in other cities sent me these gems. From Ellie in Montreal:

One can only hope that this fellow’s brick work is better than his spelling of “chimney.”

Here’s a contribution from Don in San Francisco:

I do hope that the “ethnic ingredients” have been cooked into some sort of meal, rather than presented as a set of separate, grocery-store packages. Ditto for the “can vegetables.” And while we’re on the subject of “can vegetables,” is that something the restaurant really wants to brag about?  Or is this some sort of “truth in labeling” requirement?  Given that both halves of the sign are labeled “lunch & dinner,” the offerings are strange. I guess you could enjoy them on a half-street, next to a fireplace with a clean chimniey, as you read no mail.

Punc. Puzzles

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What governs whether a sign-maker has room for letters and punctuation? Font? The size of the sign? I’m going for chaos theory, based on these signs. The first is from the “Dept of Transportation”:

Somehow “ped” got a period, but “dept” didn’t. Both are abbreviations, “ped” being the shortened form for “pedestrian” and “dept” for “department.” In case you’re wondering (actually, despite the fact that you’re not wondering at all), I should mention that this NYC “dept” isn’t consistent when it comes to punctuation relating to walkers:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe the plural “peds” seems different to the dept? Grammatically, it’s not.

Not only “depts,” but also building owners get creative with punctuation:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neither of the two sentences on this sign ends with a period. Also, “owners” should have an apostrophe, before the s or after it, depending upon how many people own the bikes. I gave up the apostrophe battle a long time ago, so I won’t dwell on that issue here. I do wonder (a) how the landlord can figure out who owns a bike and (b) exactly how the “expense” is collected. I’m betting this sign is an empty threat. (Also ineffective, given the number of bicycles that have nearly run me down on New York sidewalks. What’s the dept doing with the time saved by ignoring punctuation rules?) I also wonder about the criteria for capital letters in this sign. If standard rules for caps had been in effect, only “No” and “Removal” would qualify (first word of each sentence), as well as the “Ps” in the title, “Private Property.” If the caps were for emphasis, why is “expense” in lower case?

Another:

I understand that consistency is difficult to achieve in, say, a 200-page document. But if you’re working with only two sentences, you ought to be able to spare a period for each or omit the punctuation mark entirely.

Last but not least:

Okay, no period at the end of this sentence: I’m used to that. But I can’t find any reason for a comma before the conjunction “or.”  For that matter, I can’t find a reason for the text as written. Why not just say “DO NOT FEED BIRDS”? Theories welcome. Punc also.

Scratching an It

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Pronouns create more problems per letter than any other part of speech, in my humble and completely unscientific opinion. You’d think that a scarcity of letters would open up fewer chances for error, but the opposite is true. Consider “it,” which is nearly as small as it gets, pun intended.

This sign is posted in a bathroom in a building owned and operated by a distinguished university, which shall remain nameless but not blameless:

I support the plea, the lavatory version of the Golden Rule, but not the pronoun. As the sentence is worded, “it” has to refer to “stalls and sinks.” Those items are clearly plural, and “it” is singular.

Now a few words from a distinguished newspaper, which shall also remain nameless:

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I first read this article, I thought that Loftsson’s whaling operation did not recognize “an international ban on commercial hunting.” Duh, I thought. They’re hunting; hence in the company’s view, the ban isn’t valid. A few minutes later, I realized that Iceland doesn’t recognize the ban. I probably would have caught on sooner had I had my morning coffee before reading the paper. But that’s why the rules for pronoun antecedents exist: to keep things clear even in the absence of caffeine.

Last is this caption, posted near the excavation of a Roman site. Mindful of my own frequent errors in the second and third languages I’ve studied, I’m ignoring the obvious translation issues. Instead, I’m focusing on the last word, “it”:

The photo is a bit unclear, so I reproduce the text here:

“Opening a settlement, to public visitors, would make some interventions destined for restoration, conservation, and spreading. The objective is to guarantee that the remains, mosaics, walls or paintings, wouldn’t deteriorate more than they are and, at the same time, visitors could understand them. Its appearance is never the same as the one in the excavation, neither is the one that had while the Hispanic-romans were using it.”

I dare you to define “it” with certainty. After reading other signs posted around the excavation, I realized that I was looking at the remains of a bath house and latrine. This “it,” in other words, has a lot in common with the modern restroom where I found the first sign. The more pronoun errors change, it seems, the more they stay the same.

 

Quick Questions

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I’m not going to ask whether it’s “hot enough for you,” the standard query in NYC during August. In deference to the fact that everyone’s brains are fried, I’ll just post a few signs and ask a simple question about each. Feel free to answer.

On a sidewalk near Second Avenue:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Question: Do they think pedestrians will hurdle over the orange-and-white bars without this reminder?

In a shop on the West Side:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Does the flu vaccine advertised in the small circle to the left of the larger sign complement the lipstick or the powder?

From The New York Times:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is “wildly unparalleled” a zig-zag or a right angle?

Finally, from a mini-golf course in Seattle:

Does this mean you should ignore the hand rails that are NOT provided?

Prize for the best answers is, well, nothing. But try anyway!

Service with a . . .

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The rule used to be “service with a smile,” to which employees in stores and restaurants at least paid lip service. (Pun intended.) The rule has changed. Witness this sign, which my granddaughter spotted in a flower market:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I certainly sympathize with selfie-opponents, having been backed into, stepped on, and nearly blinded by people more interested in proving that they’d seen something than in actually seeing it. Think for a moment: the amazing place/thing/person that prompts people to take selfies is behind them. And unless, like countless generations of parents, you claim to have eyes in the back of your head, you aren’t seeing what you’re snapping. My sympathy for the flower seller doesn’t change the fact that her customers aren’t receiving any smiles here.

Or here, as noted by my friend Sharon:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grammatically speaking, an introductory verb form (“To Better Serve You,” which by the way displays a strange set of capital letters) modifies the subject. In this sentence, the implied subject is “you,” as you are the one who is supposed to “Refrain From Cell Phone Use.” I’m not quarreling with the sentiment expressed by this sign. Everything I said about selfie-shooters applies to many cellphone-chatters also. But in the sign, grammatically, no one is serving “You.”  The sign really means “shut up and let me do my job and we’ll both be happier or at least not hate each other quite as much.” I think. The logic befuddles, but at least the sign writer was polite.

As was this one:

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Kindly”? Traditionally, that adverb was for the customer: “Kindly refrain from throwing paper money at the waiter,” or something like that. Here the restaurant believes that it is acting “kindly” by reminding you that you’re a dinosaur if you think you can pay with currency. I do like “cashless,” which, judging from the prices, isn’t going to be a problem for the owners unless their bank account is hacked.

I’ll end with refreshing honesty:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I prefer wine, but I think I’ll go to this restaurant anyway. Who can resist “mediocre service”?

Help Wanted. Please!

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Still summer, still hot, still trying to figure out what some signs mean. A little help, please!

I understand “Credit and Non-Credit,” “Online,” “Leadership,” and STEM.  (In case you aren’t familiar with the acronym, that’s “Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math.”) But “Location-Based”? Last time I checked, everything was in a location. Are students getting credit for thinking about where they are? I imagine this advertisement, which is from a university with an excellent reputation, refers to study abroad or in locations that invite scientific or sociological research (e.g. Antarctica or a rainforest). If so, say so, I thought. Then I tried to reword the line and came up empty. Suggestions?

Here’s a physical/verbal oxymoron:

 

 

 

 

 

 

The posted bill (which the dictionary defines as “a written or printed notice”) outlaws itself. I  spent some time wondering how to get around this problem. You could say, “Post no other bills,” but that sounds clunky and invites reactions such as “What’s so special about your bill?”  A few weeks later I saw the same words stenciled on a wall. Does a stencil count as writing? Is a non-paper bill a bill? No idea. Thoughts welcome.

And there’s this beauty from the New York Times:

The verb “refund” is transitive; that is, it takes an object. To whom is the bank refunding “Mr. Kemm”? Does he come in a large version of those bill-shaped envelopes you get when you withdraw a lot of cash? Is he shrink-wrapped, like (I imagine) deliveries from the treasury? Speculation invited.

I spotted this problem on a menu sign in the cafeteria of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I couldn’t come up with a solution:

I was fine with the first two lines and the last, but the third one stumped me. “Bolognaise” (often written as “Bolonese”) is a meat sauce. But before I got to that word, I pictured “house-made beef” and immediately wondered where the Met was raising its cattle. In those mysteriously roped off galleries? Hidden in the basement and taken out at night to graze in Central Park? My first thought was to drop “beef” as unnecessary information. But I did a little more research and found that Bolognaise sauce may contain beef or pork, or, for all I know, ostrich or aardvark. So “beef” is actually essential information. I spent several hours trying to reword the sign to avoid the cattle-on-Fifth-Avenue issue. (Yes, I really should get a new hobby.) My best answer was a comma after “house-made.” I could also envision a hyphen (beef-bolognaise). Neither satisfied me as much as the pasta, which was quite good. Chefs, how would you word this sign?

Puzzles

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Although it’s still July, I can’t help feeling that we’ve hit the dog days of summer, which should show up in late August. Maybe it’s just me. Or climate change. Regardless, it seems like a good time to present some puzzles to take your mind off the heat. Here we go:

 

 

 

 

 

 

First of all, this sign does not include the word “free,” so it isn’t saying that if you buy one shoe, the store will throw in another one without an additional charge. I don’t need to point out that in the non-shoe world, buying one thing usually results in your getting one thing. An upsetting possibility is that shoe stores are beginning to follow the playbook established by airlines: Charge a basic rate that includes almost nothing, and then add fees. “Want the matching shoe? Upgrade to the pair rate!” If that’s the case, I think I’ll hop.

My friend Catherine spotted this sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over several glasses of wine, we decided that this place either offers head-to-toe service or caters to clients with hoof-and-mouth disease. Other theories welcome.

Then there’s this sign:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t realize that Bento Boxes were “Irish to the Core.” I may have one with a glass of Japanese-to-the-Core Guinness.

Last one:

The truck handle underlines the crucial word, which seems to promise 24-hour service if you need a stringed instrument (the “Viol”) removed. The puzzle: There’s a period after “Viol,” implying an abbreviation (most likely candidate: violation). But there’s also a red dot between “Viol.” and “Removal,” separating the two concepts. Why would a company offer “violation” (abbreviated or not) to its customers? You figure it out. I’m going out for some iced coffee. Or an Irish bento box.

 

Down with Apostrophes!

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Maybe it’s the spirit of rebellion inspired by the approach of Bastille Day, but I have to ask: Why do we need apostrophes?  Perfectly respectable languages — French and Spanish come to mind — manage without them. Does anybody really think that writing “Georges flag” instead of “George’s flag” will mislead a reader? Unfortunately, abolishing apostrophes is not an option I can exercise unilaterally. And while they remain part of the language, I do think they should be used correctly. Often, they aren’t:

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this sign “sheets” is a plural, not a possessive. Therefore, this apostrophe isn’t okay. (Neither were the sheets, which looked a bit faded.) Maybe I should have razored out the apostrophe from that sign and inserted it into this one:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry for the blurry photo; a grate, a screen, and a window blocked me, perhaps an unsuccessful attempt to mask a punctuation problem. The space between the N and the S implies that the sign writer had an inkling that “men s” was a possessive requiring an apostrophe, not a plural to be written without one. Yet somehow the punctuation never made it onto the sign. Nor is it clear what “men s wanted current designers” means. But that’s not an apostrophe issue. “Men’s wanted current designers” is just as confusing.

Here’s a fine pair, from two different stores. Care to guess which is correct?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I vote for the second, reluctantly. In the first, “dine” isn’t a noun. The hot dog and fries could be a “kid’s dinner,” or “kids’ dinners,” if they don’t eat much. But something has to change (both grammatically and nutritionally). The case for the second sign is that “kids” functions as an adjective. Despite watching the “Yankees game” instead of “the Yankees’ game,” I prefer “kids’ classes.” Also a hyphen in “pizza-making.” Nobody ever said I wasn’t picky. Just willing to guillotine apostrophes out of the language.