I haven’t posted lately, unsure how to respond to the sorry state of the world. Yes, I know the world is always in a sorry state, but to me the current moment seems worse than usual. How can a blog about silly signs respond? The answer I arrived at comes from the fact that I’m a teacher. Reader, can you determine what grade I’m giving the World by reading these signs?
This was on the window of an empty shop:
Got it? If not, here’s another clue:
By now you know, but I can’t resist showing you these, the first from a 24-hour restaurant and the second from a bagel shop:
Yes, World, your grade is D-. It’s that high only because I’m being lenient. I hope you, dear reader, are moved to show your fellow humans and your planet that they’re loved, that the fix-it department is never closed, and that you’ll make things better not by returning to the past but by employing the best, old-fashioned tools: hard work, commitment, and — this time rightly without a D, love.
I’ve just gone through an apartment renovation (minor) and am currently enduring construction above me (major) and on the bricks outside my windows (monumental). Not to mention the massive structure going up on my corner and … well, let’s just say I don’t have a happy view of construction these days. Construction signs, though, bring a smile to my face. This one, for example:
Duly noted. But I have to ask: How do the owners of this site know that children have been warned? And why do they think the kids will listen?
Here’s another helpful sign:
Nice of the Seattle Department of Construction and [Inspections] to inform the public that someone is building zero Units with zero Parking.
I paid special attention to this one because my nickname is on it, albeit spelled differently:
Question: Why is one word spelled correctly at the top (deliveries) and incorrectly at the bottom (deliverys)? Perhaps there was an un scheduled interruption while the sign was being proofread?
That’s it for now. With the holidays looming, I wish you all good things, whether they be scheduled or unscheduled.
I’m not hiring. I’m reacting to the fact that pretty much everyone I encounter these days is tense about extreme weather, extreme politics, and, of course, the holiday season. Like The Beatles, “I get by with a little help from my friends.” But if you prefer a different method, perhaps one of these signs will suggest a path forward. Here’s one I saw in Madrid, Spain:
Poetry and psychoanalysis! A dynamite combination for personal growth and tension relief.
If poetry and psychoanalysis aren’t for you, consider the advice offered by the Irish Times in 1916, when martial law was declared in Dublin. With violence in the streets and a strict curfew, the newspaper opined:
Trouble outside, poetry inside! Wonderful thought, and a strategy that more than a few people, myself included, followed during the Covid lockdown era. Okay, maybe not the Bard, but trashy novels for sure.
Still looking for help? Here’s a sign in Seatac Airport:
I’m not sure why the sign maker felt the need to mention both Rescue and Assistance. Perhaps it’s because when things are really bad, one is not enough?
What if nothing is enough, and you’re still tense from doom-scrolling? Don’t give in! Or, as a zoo in Seattle put it:
My interpretation: It’s not the wolves’ fault! Pick your targets wisely. And maybe read a little poetry to the pack.
We’re closing in on the season when Santa is, as the song goes, “making a list and checking it twice.” Good idea! Too bad these signmakers didn’t make these signs and check them even once. If they had, surely they would have noticed these unfortunate typos.
The first comes courtesy of my friend Barry:
Ouch. The operations themselves must sting, but surely a little warning would help?
This photo was snapped by Nathan, the son of one of my former students. It’s on a food cart parked in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art:
I sincerely hope no one obeys the command in the first two lines.
Here’s a screen shot I took when I was rug-shopping:
Quick question: Are the Stunning Patters made by little feet or a comedy-club emcee?
Another screenshot, from the website of a major hotel chain that should know better:
Take a close look at the third sentence, which I’ll reproduce here because the print is rather small: “Pop in, have a nap, (needs a comma) do a little laundry, take a shower, and relax in the stylish lounge before continuing on your journey.” Just what guests need in an airport hotel: a comma!
What I need, and what I suspect we all need as the holidays approach, is a bit of what these special days promise: the love of family and friends, the peace to enjoy their company, and the chance to express my gratitude for their presence in my life. Happy Thanksgiving!
I’ve spent the last few weeks in Seattle, which has been called “a city that loves books” because of the large number of bookstores, libraries, and book sales there. How lovely to be in a city of readers! Even more impressive: it appears that not all of Seattle’s readers are human. Take a look:
I wonder whether any members of the bark-set have objected to the missing punctuation.
Speaking of the bark-set:
Pay attention, Fido! Keep quiet, Rex! You don’t want a tow-away to the (gasp!) pound. (And yes, there’s some red tape stuck on the sign. I didn’t stick it there. If I had, the sign would have been much sloppier.)
These homeowners are less threatening , more polite, and probably just as earnest about their request to neighborhood dogs:
“Be respectful“: now that’s a message I can support!
Moving on from woofers, here’s an excerpt from a plea for kitten adoption:
While Squirrel’s profile appeals on many levels (who can resist feather wand toys?), I balk at living with a cat that loves to eat a chorus, no matter how out of tune the singers’ performance may be.
I choose to believe there’s hope for Squirrel. If West Coast Woofers can read, they can teach Squirrel to resist noshing on a tenor. Maybe they can even persuade the human population — not just in Seattle but everywhere — to be respectful. That would be something to bark about, even in a tow-a-way area.
We live in confusing times, so it’s nice to know that some people are working hard to explain things, even if their explanations sometimes overshoot the mark. Here’s an example:
Shower caps do more than add fashion flair! Who knew?
This screenshot is a few years old, but it’s worth another look:
I have it on good authority that the dead former Treasury secretaries declined to comment.
My friend Constance and her husband noticed this headline:
And the galaxies that aren’t in the universe? How old are they?
One more:
Has anyone tried COLLABORATING apart, in this CHANGING WORLD or in a non-universe galaxy? If so, let me know how it works out for you.
Also let me know if you spot an interesting sign or headline. In this universe, those of us who are living (with or without dry hair) should be collaborating together.
These days, when friends ask me how I am, I offer an overly dramatic account of my recent bout with Covid, for which a boxing referee would immediately award Covid a TKO. It’s taken me three weeks to get off the mat . . . er, sofa. (See what I mean about overly dramatic?) Unable to pursue my usual pastimes, I’ve been combing through my backlog of photos. Here are a few I find questionable, in that each gives rise to a number of queries.
Take this one, for example:
Is there anyone walking around with only half a head? If so, are highlights really that person’s biggest concern? Also, if you blowdry half a head, does the other half stay wet?
Next up is a photo snapped by my friend Orli Shaham, a renowned pianist:
Her comment: “They must be delicious after they’ve been smoked.” My question: Is this concert venue affiliated with the restaurant in my neighborhood that keeps trying to hire a grilled man?
In these troubled times, most of us have questions about the future. I certainly do, along with a couple of questions about this sign:
My questions: How much for a regular Palm? And who decides whether someone has a Special Palm?
Last one, an excerpt from a letter a co-op board sent to my friend Constance:
Question from Michael, Constance’s husband: What do we do when we have used up both hands? My questions: Do waived hands hang out with waived rights? Or does the building management confiscate hands that have been waived? Actually, scratch that last question. I don’t want to know.
I do want you to send me photos, if you spot any questionable signs. Be well!
For more than four years, I was a “Novid” — someone who hadn’t had Covid. Two weeks ago, the little red line finally appeared on my test strip. Feeling not terrible but not great, I spent the short periods of time between naps examining the language of this disease. “I got Covid,” people say, but it seems more accurate to say “Covid got me.” Ditto for “catching”: I wasn’t standing around with a mitt, like a Yankee outfielder. The virus caught me.
As I recovered, I roamed around the Oxford English Dictionary, a word-nerd’s playground. The OED defines “contagious” as “”where the notion of mutual contact is present.” Notion? I didn’t get an idea. I got a sweaty, exhausting experience. Another definition of “contagious” is “charged with the germs of an infectious disease” — as if I’d run up a hefty credit-card bill (crowded subways, theater performances, restaurants) and now had to pay. Fair enough.
This wouldn’t be a proper Grammarian-in-the-City post without a couple of signs. Here’s one from the pre-vaccine era:
Why practicing? It’s not like playing the piano!
Here’s another, same time period:
Nice to know that you can stay on the sidewalk, but your FACE COVERINGIS REQUIRED TO ENTER THE BUILDING. Not sure how FACE COVERING will get there, given the absence of legs, but hey, it’s REQUIRED.
Thankfully, that era is over, though Covid is not. We’ve learned to live with it — actually, to live through it, if we’re lucky. I am, and I’m grateful. I wish you good health!
Living in New York City has taught me that just about anything is possible. I’ve witnessed — really, I have ! — a pedestrian taking advantage of a rainstorm to shampoo her hair, a subway argument being simultaneously translated into Chinese, Spanish, and Russian by fellow passengers, and a briefcase-toting adult wearing a tutu. Somehow, though, I can’t see the messages on these signs as anything other than unlikely, if not impossible.
First up is a sign I spotted at my local farmers’ market:
I’m not much of a drinker, but I can see the appeal of Locally sourced Whiskey, be it Single Malt or Peated. What makes me groan is Grown. (Sorry, couldn’t resist the pun.) Is there a field of Whiskey bushes sprouting near NYC? Near anywhere? Or are we talking about inebriated ghosts who live locally?
My older granddaughter spotted this sign and highlighted the phrase Costumers Only:
Unlikely restriction, for sure. What also catches my attention is the command to STOP UTENSIL SPAM. Is the store campaigning against ultra-processed, canned ham? Unlikely. But so is the only alternative. According to my dictionary, SPAM refers to a large-scale email campaign. Who knew that a UTENSIL could access a computer! I wonder what sort of message a UTENSIL would send out. An invitation to the Tine-Appreciation Society? A public service announcement about sharp plastic knives?
One more:
This restaurant has been Grand Opening since 1991. That has to be a world record.
In the likely event that you come across an unlikely message on a sign, please send me a photo.
I spend a lot of time watching detective shows. (Side point: Be super alert if you live in or visit a picturesque British village. The murder rate there seems to be extremely high.) On most shows, the answers are clear by the end of the episode. Maybe that’s why I like to watch them: I’m a fan of certainty, which is definitely not a characteristic of the signs in this post.
First up is a notice I spotted on the door of a tenement in my neighborhood. For non-NYers, I should explain that many NYC restaurants, hoping to attract takeout customers, hire people to distribute paper menus to apartment buildings. It’s not uncommon for residents to wade through piles of paper between the outer, unlocked door and the inner, key-only entry. Annoying for sure, but I must admit I can’t imagine any scenario that fits this sign:
DANGER? Really? There might be DANGER if MENUS are present, because someone might slip on an unsteady pile. But surely there’s no DANGER in NO MENUS? Oh, wait! I just thought of a DANGER. With NO MENUS, someone might actually have to cook. But what’s with the graphic on the left? It looks like a cross between the “OK” sign and the “slippery surface” image, and I’m completely stumped.
This one was across the street from my favorite farmers’ market:
First, UWS is short for “Upper West Side,” a Manhattan neighborhood. Second, this sign appears on a store that will begin selling beauty products in SUMMER 2024.. All that is clear. But what is The Viral Hand Cream? A cream containing viruses? If so, which ones? I am not a fan of e-Coli or Covid. Somehow, I don’t think I’m alone in that opinion.
This last sign was taped to a glass-fronted cabinet next to the door of a restaurant. Inside the cabinet was a menu, perhaps banished to that location after putting apartment dwellers in DANGER:
What needs to be in Print? How many copies are required? Who’s supposed to do the job? Does Kinko’s offer onsite visits — photocopying housecalls, so to speak? And why would someone use this method to communicate?
