Tag Archives: confusing signs

Tell Me Where

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Tell me where I should go when the streets are filled with motor vehicles and I see this sign:

I’m used to dodging texters, squadrons of cyclists, and an occasional Vespa on the sidewalk, but trucks? And will they hear me if I caution them for crossing sidewalk? Maybe I’ll just leave, as all packages referred to in this sign are directed to do:

At least I won’t be alone. In addition to packages, I’ll have doorman to protect me. Speaking of doorman, here’s a building notice that puzzles me:

I get that pofavor is short for por favor, part of a polite request in Spanish. But in front off bldg? Fortunately I don’t smoke, regardless of whether I’m on, off, or in front of a building. Or behind one, for that matter. I do drink wine. Maybe not the last one on this list, though:

I’m not keen to show ripe pear flavor on the nose, mine or anyone else’s. The mineral finish of the Riesling is more appealing, assuming the mineral isn’t something feldspar or mica, which I’ve never sampled but which I assume taste awful. And what’s a leading . . . finish? The middle wine looks like the best bet. Anyone care to join me off bldg for some Pinot Grigio? We can ignore the trucks crossing sidewalk and leave with doorman together, wine glasses in hand.

Grammarian in Dublin

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I’m not Irish, but a recent trip to Dublin almost made me wish I were. A few reasons: the Dublin Writers Museum, the National Library’s exhibit on William Butler Yeats, and the bartender who explained that his job was “coaxing frogs to water.” I mean, how can you not love a place with this sign:

The display of ancient Irish artifacts behind the card was interesting, but more appealing was the fact that Ireland’s National Museum of Archaeology assumes that visitors know the meaning of “plinth.” (I looked it up: “a heavy base.”)

Near a busy intersection I spotted this electronic notice:

Cyclists were plentiful, but no one was smoking. It was daytime (though cloudy), and if any bikes had headlights, I missed them. Thus I have no clue what the sign means, but I like it all the same.

Here’s one of my favorites, painted on the wall of the Little Museum of Dublin. The room recreates the office of an editor of the Irish Times:

This quotation is from an editorial published in April 1916, while bloody battles raged throughout the city. To paraphrase: If you have to stay inside to avoid getting killed in a civil war, you may as well read Shakespeare. I’m in peaceful surroundings now, but I may just follow the newspaper’s advice. More Dublin gems will appear in my next post.

Twenty Something

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Regarding the title of this post: “Twenty,” because that’s the number trending on signs around town. “Something,” because the message of each of these signs means something. I just don’t know what. Take this sign (please, please take it away):

I like a discount as much as the next person, but I’m a little hesitant to buy a “damaged boxes item.” And no, there was nothing under or near the sign to give me context. No damaged boxes, no item.

Here I know what they’re selling, sort of, but there’s still a problem:

Actually, several problems. Once you say “Coca-Cola,” doesn’t that narrow things down, making “beverage” redundant? Are there Coca-Cola sandwiches? Cookies? (Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.) My real issue is with “200Z,” which looks like a serial number. Given the nearby illustration of more sugary beverage than anyone should ever drink, I’m assuming that “200Z” needs a space, as in “20 OZ,” the abbreviated form of “20 ounces.”  I’m not sure whether the pizza crust and sauce under the pair of cheese slices are included in the $5.95 price, but at least the store inserted the hyphen correctly.

I saved the best (actually the worst) for last:

If you hope to meet a regular customer, your odds are 4 out of 5, I guess, because  “today” has “20% new clients.” Actually, new “client’s.” I was tempted to erase the hyphen with my sleeve, but I can’t spend all day deleting apostrophes from NYC signs. I have better things to do, like figure out what the shop offers. The part I glimpsed through the window left me clueless. Besides, the sign may be referring to something belonging to the 20%, in which case the possessive is appropriate.  The only problem, aside from the fact that there’s no indication of what’s possessed, is that the apostrophe should appear after the letter S (the plural form), because “20%” implies more than one person. They can’t chop up one person!  I think at least twenty-something percent of us can agree on that point.

 

Happy Halloween!

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Before or after you hit the trick-or-treat trail, take a minute to enjoy  these holiday photos. This one comes from my friend Milton:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Punking” seems perfectly suited to the “trick” part of the Halloween slogan, don’t you think?

Mary Shelley’s famous novel, Frankenstein, is also a good fit for this holiday. The Morgan Library has a fine exhibit celebrating the 200th anniversary of the monster, who, by the way, has no name and is actually much less monstrous than most of the human characters in the book. (Frankenstein is the name of the doctor who sewed body parts together and animated the creature.) I learned a lot from the exhibition, including this information about early theatrical performances of the classic work:

Leave it to Mary Shelley, inventive in so many ways, to add an apostrophe and the letter S to a row of hyphens to create a possessive form of “the unnameable.”

Once Halloween is over and you’re fighting sugar rush and paying dental bills, you might plan for another holiday, one that tends to be stressful. Show this sign — sent by my friends Pilar, Naomi, and Aracelly — to any of your unruly offspring:

“Behave or I’ll drop you off.” Simple but effective! But before your kids call Children’s Protective Services, be sure to explain that you’re just punking them.

I Give Up

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After decades of bellyaching about the sad state of NYC signs, I have officially given up  — on some issues, not on all. Grammarian in the City will no longer object to the following:

As far as I’m concerned, BOGO all you want. I once thought that the concept of “buy one get one” was an unnecessary statement of the standard deal between buyer and seller. But now I see that most BOGO-users are too busy surfing social media to add an “F,” for “free.” Or maybe they think that BOGOF sounds like a mediocre brand of caviar. I commend this sign-writer for specifying the terms of the deal, spelling out “buy one get one” for “50% Off,” though strictly speaking the sign should read “BOGAOF50%O” (buy one get another one for 50% off). I concede that such a sign resembles the kind of password people concoct and promptly forget. I will, however, raise an objection to “tight.” I  prefer to cover both legs with “tights,” not just one with a “FREE tight.” And $75 is a little steep, don’t you think?

I’ve also thrown in the towel when it come to hyphens:

My first glimpse of this truck made we wonder whether Bunsen burners are prone to out-of-control blazes. If so, I thought, there is certainly a need for “scientific-fire prevention.” But perhaps this company pursues customers who prefer that the laws of physics take priority in battling flames? That meaning would call for “scientific fire-prevention.” Whatever. I’m done with fulminating about hyphenating.

Nor will I say one word about the silliness of this sort of sign:

Okay, just a couple of words: Is there anyone who believes that amateurs rent stores, buy equipment, and have signs painted so that they can repair “hand-bags,” zippers,” and “luggage”?  Judging from the trend to specify “professional” dry-cleaning, barbering, and other services, I guess the answer is yes. No matter. I don’t care. I can even live with this sign’s reference to moribund footwear (“dying” not “dyeing”).

Inaccurate acronyms, missing hyphens, and dead shoes:  This “professional” grammarian has given up on them all.

What’s Open?

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When my son was little, we couldn’t walk down our block without having the baker rush over with a piece of bread, the dry cleaner offer candy, and the deli clerk donate a cookie. Toddler paradise! When I walk down that same street with my granddaughter, her experience is different. So many stores have closed! E-commerce and, I’ve read, some unwise rent laws have led to a surge in vacancies. What’s open, and when? These signs offer absolutely no help:

Given this timetable, I expect another empty storefront soon. Here’s another:

I’m happy about the “Grand Open”; at least the storefront isn’t vacant. I do wonder whether the $29 price includes both feet. I also wonder how long after the “grand open” I’ll see this sort of sign:

Near where the “out business” used to be is this sign, professionally printed and posted all over a building under construction:

According to the dictionary, “amenities” are “desirable or useful features of a building or a place.”  This sign is okay — grammatically, at least. Winding through scaffolding to play billiards or to sit near a communal wine cellar before your apartment is constructed is not okay, at least for me. But if you don’t care, go for it.

Although the word is correctly used in the last sign, I couldn’t help thinking about another definition of “amenities”: “social courtesies.” Sadly, everything I see in our public life shows me that this sort of “amenities” is absolutely NOT “now open.” If we can’t find our way back to civility, I fear that soon we will also be “out business,” and not just from 11 to 12 each day.

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.

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.