Most of the signs I glimpse in NYC these days are too sad to post. The hopeful “reopening March 20th” placards depress me now, in mid-May, because the shops they’re tacked on remain closed, some perhaps permanently. Nor do I like reading “closed until further notice” notices. I know that already. I just don’t know much further the “further” will be.
So I’m relying on my archives to map my pandemic experience. First, what I began to hear (but not really absorb) in late January:
Diagnosing the path ahead.
Soon I realized the trajectory life was taking:
Lots of do-It-yourself and a fair amount of storage (including toilet paper). Much moving away from the city, but not — and never — for me.
Instructions and predictions from authorities resembled, and continue to resemble, this:
and this:
There is no silver lining to this pandemic, but it has made me understand how, in these tough times, and also in good times,
What’s inside? If you’re fortunate, love and resilience.
Take care of yourself, take care of others, and stay safe.
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.
With all that’s going on, it’s time for a little silliness. New York City sign-writers are happy to oblige, albeit unknowingly. Here’s one from a coffee shop:
The right side is blurred because of the coat-to-chalk effect, so I’ll retype the message here: “Not only was Aretha Franklin the first woman to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, she was the first woman, period.” One question: Did Adam give her R-E-S-P-E-C-T?
Onward, to an art store:
I’m not “prude” either, but I am a grammarian, and my preference for “prudish” is not “just highly selective.”
Last, an all-too-accurate sign:
We are indeed in a “mean time.” Things will eventually improve, but in the meantime, laugh as much as you can. Then wash your hands.
This post is a challenge: Can you reword these well-meaning but misguided signs, all of which have “do” problems? One point for a grammatically correct answer, two for grammatically correct and punchy, and three for a revision that fits the first two categories and maintains some sort of verb. I’ll tell you what I came up with for each, but fair warning: my revisions are terrible. Ready? Then we’re off to the barber shop:
The original, “We do hot shave,” has to go. My attempts: “We hot shave.” I don’t think so. “We shave hot.” Nope. “We shave hotly.” Definitely no. How about “We stick hot towels on your face before we shave you”? Not unless the storefront widens considerably. (And when did shaving become a team effort?)
Onward, and not upward:
As it is now, this sign feels like a retort to someone who said, “I wish you tailored.” (“We do tailor!”) My revisions: “We tailor and do alterations” and “Tailoring and Alterations Done Here.” Way too formal, way too long. Your thoughts?
Last one:
There’s an easy fix: cut off the first line of the top sign. That earns two points, but can you go for a three-pointer?
I’ll tally everyone’s points. The reader with the highest score will win . . . well, nothing. But DO try anyway.
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!
“Emergency” seems like an important topic these days. Given all that’s going on in the world, it’s easy to panic. Here’s a sign from someone who obviously has:
I’m not here to judge whether step-sitting constitutes an emergency. For all I know, plopping on the staircase might slow a life-saving organ transfer. I do know that the sign-writer has a punctuation emergency, specifically the soon-to-be worldwide shortage of exclamation points. I mean, we can only produce so much punctuation, despite working 24/7 to churn it out! (or out!!!). Be reasonable, people.
And if you can’t be reasonable, at least be friendly:
My first thought, after I blessed the sign-writer for the single exclamation point, was “speak for yourself,” because for many of us, “emergencies” are definitely not “welcome.” Though I guess if you’re bored, the right emergency can add a little zing to your day.
So can a mistranslated phrase:
Yes, help for those pesky infernos is on the way, “to crash in event of fire.” With apologies to the Borg (Star Trek’s best villains, in my opinion), assistance is futile.
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.
I couldn’t resist inserting a hyphen where it doesn’t belong, “hyphen” being, well, un-hyphenated in proper English. I hope the title balances the scales a bit, because so often hyphens are omitted where they’re sorely needed. In this sign, for instance:
Okay, I admit I’m taking this one personally. My name is Woods, and I do have a kitchen. I also have a “specialty” (grammar), but except when I’m trying to follow a poorly written recipe, my “specialty” and “cooking” don’t intersect. Hence the need for a hyphen. If I’m “Specialty-Cooking Woods,” I’m frying a predicate nominative or baking an adjective with, perhaps, an adverbial sauce. If the hyphen slides to the right, this company delivers “Specialty Cooking-Woods.” I prefer to think of those products as cedar, oak, or something similar, though if the owners pay me enough, I’ll make dinner. My specialty is “Clean-Out-the-Refrigerator Soup.”
Before I leave this sign, I should address “Gourmet Hardwood Charcoal.” A “gourmet,” the dictionary tells me, is “a connoisseur of delicacies.” Thus this sign evokes foodies chowing down on “hardwood charcoal.” This is not a hyphen problem. It’s a dental, or perhaps a “Don’t you have anything better to do?” problem. Next up, employment:
Leaving aside the “team” issue (though customers are often treated as the competition), I’m choosing to focus on “Part Sales Mate.” Huh? If the position is “part-sales,” what’s the other part? Or is the job selling a “part”? And what’s with the “mate”? Are the owners seeking a “part-mate”? Part-mate, part-something else? I’m leaving this one in the “life’s too short to worry about stuff like this” bin.
Last, for today at least, as hyphen-problems reappear as often as villains in superhero films:
Two townhouses? Two compounds, each with two buildings? And in a “double garden,” do the veggies and flowers appears in pairs?
That’s it for today. I off in search of a garden, single or double, with or without gourmet woods.
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 allpackages 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.
Really, it’s not a choice I have ever made or ever plan to make. But apparently some people do need to decide between “Individual, or Strip.” My question, in addition to why there’s a comma before “or,” concerns how an “Eyelash Application” decision is made:
On second thought, I don’t really want to know. I’d rather ponder still another eyelash dilemma:
So, a single eyelash walks into a bar . . . and gets 50% off? Or is the “first Eyelash” 50% off and all the others offered at the regular, or even double-the-regular price? (Sidepoint: Why capitalize “Eyelash”?) The whole thing sounds like a math problem to me: Calculate how much it will cost to have all your eyelashes visit. The answer may depend on whether you want your “first Eyelash visit” to be “Individual, or Strip.”
One last outrage of English, courtesy of my friend Ellie:
Nicotine-puffers can read this notice in columns (“No Safety / Smoking First”) and nonpuffers line by line (“No Smoking / Safety First”). I’m a nonpuffer but also a noncombatant in the “what does it mean?” war. I do wonder whether the letters were applied to the boat “Individual, or Strip.”
