Tag Archives: signs

Dazed and Definitely Confused

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Pollsters these days constantly inform us that we are divided. We can’t seem to agree on anything, they report, except that we do not agree on anything. That may be true (or not — feel free to disagree about agreement). It also may be true that we are simply confused. Certainly this signwriter is:

First of all, if someone is having so much trouble decoding the word FIVE that the numeral is necessary, why use the relatively sophisticated word MAXIMUM? Second, what does FIVE (3) CUSTOMER mean? Don’t answer that. Instead, take a look at this advertisement, specifically the middle caption:

I’ve spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out what an ORIGINAL REPRODUCTION could possibly be. I have given up, but I invite you to try your hand.

Each of these signs, on the other hand, is perfectly clear. Together, not so much:

The best meaning I can come up with: All roads lead not only to Rome but also to Lake Wallenpaupack Palmyra Township.

If you drive there, or anywhere else, for that matter, be sure you have enough fuel. You never know when you will encounter a pump like this one:

I sympathize with the gas station attendant. There’s an awful lot NOT WORING these days. Perhaps we can all agree on that?

May I Ask a Question?

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Four questions, actually, all simple, all based on photos from the past year. Free subscriptions to this blog to anyone who answers all the questions correctly. (For legal reasons, I should probably point out that subscriptions to this blog are always free.) Okay, here’s the first:

QUESTION 1: What did the deceased former Treasury secretaries call for?

Ready for number 2, which my friend Don sent?

QUESTION 2: Do employees check whether the kids really have gas before handing over free food? If so, how?

Moving on:

QUESTION 3: Can we ever trust Dovere’s pool report again?

Last one, which I admit is somewhat personal because I wrote the book on the left:

QUESTION 4: What logical thread unites these three items?

I am looking forward to your answers. Stay safe!

Shopping Guide

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Shopping season, in altered form like everything else in 2020, is upon us. It seems appropriate to warn you that the appearance of certain words automatically raises the asking price, though not necessarily the quality. Take a look:

Describe anything with a British-sounding word, such as bespoke, and you can add at least 20% to the price. Even after deducting 10% for spelling (dissapoint), the store still comes out ahead. Same with this photo:

Chemists can charge much more than pharmacists, and this store has both. The chemists are presumably in Britain and selling their products in a Manhattan pharmacy. Or something like that.

Old-looking words also up the bill:

The shopkeeper (not shoppekeeper) thinks you’ll read this sign and picture yourself wearing a hoop skirt or a tricorn hat. (I’m betting the store owner, like me, is a little fuzzy about history.) Back to language: Double the P in shop and the prices double too. The E probably adds another 5%.

My pet peeve (one of about a million, I admit):

Purveyors? Somebody memorized a vocabulary list and by golly is going to use it! If sellers get $1 for whatever the specialty is, a purveyor deserves $2, right?

Last and maybe least (though it’s a race to the bottom):

Curated? I’m happy to have an art museum curate its collection. But if our favorites in the snack-food category are curated, they’re overpriced.

Moral of the story: Buyer beware. You beware, too, of prices and most of all, of Covid-19.

On the Defensive

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Lately I find myself thinking of 2020 as a real-life version of Ghostbusters 2, the one with a bubbly river of pink goo that makes everyone snarl and fight. Reinforcing that feeling are some signs that have a markedly defensive tone. Here’s one:

Pardon the bars. I took this photo during an early morning walk, so the store was closed and the gates were down. Nevertheless, the implied dialogue was easy to imagine: “Whadda ya mean, out of business? Yeah, the laundry has been shut for a while, but we still do dry clean.”

In the same vein, from the same walk, but in the window of a different shop:

More gates, more imaginary rebuttal: “I don’t care what the clerk said. I’m the owner and we do press duvet cover, sheets, pillow cases. So there!”

Last one:

The supermarket attached to this announcement is undergoing renovation, so it makes sense to proclaim, “We are still open.” But I don’t get the but. That word generally signals a change in direction or an exception to a rule. I can’t build a logic bridge from pardon our appearance to we are still open with but. Can you? If so, please let me know.

While you’re thinking, get defensive: wash your hands, mask up, and social-distance. And please, go on the offensive: fight the pink goo. This awful year needs all the kindness we can muster.

Packages

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A side effect of the pandemic is the flood of deliveries pouring into our homes — that is, pouring into our homes IF the package-deliverer figures out how to get them there. It’s not enough that these essential and surely underpaid workers have to deal with Covid while lifting heavy stuff. They also have to decipher signs like this one:

Why the quotation marks? Is it “we call it ‘door bell’ but it’s really an ejection button” or “that guy calls himself ‘Door Bell‘ because his real name is Mgkysdn”? Maybe door bell is meant to be a verb, what any package is supposed to do. I’m going with the last interpretation because picturing a package in the act of door-belling makes me smile.

Here’s another sign giving life to packages:

I removed the address to avoid embarrassing the sign-writer, who appears to think that packages will be eager to elope with the doorman.

Not every sign is bad:

I’m all for anything done graciously, a quality in short supply these days. And the fate of deliveries . . . graciously received appeals. It’s bound to be better than packages treated as this sign requests:

I hope no one’s in that yard, ever. Head bonks hurt! Plus, you end up writing a sign like this one:

Final thought for today: Wherever you or your packages land, I hope you’re safe and well.

Repurposing, Part 2

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This post is entitled “Repurposing” because I’ve dug up some photos I posted a long time ago and added Covid-pertinent commentary. (It’s “Part 2” because I did the same thing last week.) Before I begin, though, I offer sincere gratitude to the heroes who leave home each day to tend to the sick, staff the markets, deliver the packages, and keep the city running.

Now, to those of us who have the privilege of protecting ourselves by sheltering in place: How many weeks has it been? I’ve lost count, which is why it’s been long enough to need this:

Check all that apply: (a) grumpy (b) annoyed (c) exasperated (d) nuclear meltdown imminent

Self-checked? Now select a remedy. For the grumpy:

Caution: Avoid serving to significant others. May be habit-forming.

Annoyed at your isolate-mates? Try this:

A little blurry — like most of us these days.

No matter how much your offspring are getting on your nerves, don’t give in to this:

Unless of course the arrow points to “silent treatment rooms.”

As for me, I’m grateful to be safe and fervently hoping you are safe as well.

Repurposing

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With the belief that humor in the midst of tragedy is a relief and the hope that silly signs will make you smile, I’ve repurposed some photos I took in pre-distancing days.

Because you can’t get to the groomer and have never actually taken care of the canine you live with.
You’ve streamed everything. The refrigerator is just sitting there. Go look.
Suitable for children’s bedrooms, our best bike-friendly surface. Call now!

One more, which isn’t silly despite its mangled grammar:

These days, real heroes definitely don’t wear capes. They wear scrubs. They wear masks (when they can get them). They wear a calm face, no matter how fearful they are. They are the doctors, nurses, aides, EMTs, janitors, clerks, and everyone else who fights this disease. They deserve thanks — and every possible support — from all of us.

Chickening Out

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Every time I think a bit of rationality has invaded food ads (which occurs, I admit, never), I see a sign so loopy I have to laugh. And snap a photo:

How is a “whole whole chicken” different from a “whole chicken”? Is it “wholer”? Or is there something missing in the usual “whole chicken” that I should know about? Perhaps, in these hyperbolic days, we need to repeat something just to make it seem true. Sigh.

Here’s an even more disturbing sign:

Maybe this sign explains the previous one: Perhaps the “whole whole chicken” includes the brain, obliquely referred to here as the quality it confers, “smart.” The whole (whole whole) thing makes me shudder and sigh.

I think I’ll eat veggies tonight. How about you? Having trouble deciding? Try this:

No decisions, just a grab. Ideal, until you notice that it’s “our favorites,” not “your.” Sigh again.

Writing this post has made me hungry. I think I’ll grab my favorite snack, which is not chicken — not “whole,” not “whole whole,” and definitely not “smart.” Bon appetit!

I Can Only Hope

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When Pandora opened her mythical box and the world’s evils flew out, what remained was hope. In these signs, grammar and spelling and punctuation have taken flight. This post concerns what I hope remains. First, skill with scissors:

I hope the proprietors are good barbers, because the salon is certainly not wasting any energy inserting an apostrophe in kids’ (or kid’s, if only one child is welcome as a “walk-in”). Fortunately, men’s is properly punctuated.

This sign directs my hope to falling (actually, NOT falling) masonry:

What do I hope? That the company maintaining the exterior walls looming over my head in NYC is better at pointing, painting, piping, and venting than it is at spelling. Verticle? Seriously? Moving on to moving:

Here I hope that every client’s move is a great experience. Were I to use this firm (not that I’m going anywhere except on vacation), I would hope for better grammar (our employees our?) and punctuation (safe positive?).

Last but definitely not least:

Where do I start? Spelling: seperate or softner? Subject-verb agreement: work include? Punctuation: double quotation marks for the first line and single for the second? And why any quotation marks at all? I think I’ll have this shop clean my clothes, which I hope will be handled with more care than this sign.

Venice

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No jokes today. I snapped this photo in Venice, where I spent ten wonderful days in October. The beauty of the city and the kindness of the Venetians won my heart. I intended to post this photo with my usual snarky remarks on phrasing and language, but I present it now, after (and during) the floods, as a tribute:

My heart is with those who support Venice, and its “defense for the survival of this dream of stones on water.”