Tag Archives: silly signs

Sweet mysteries of life in NYC

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Like a squirrel hoarding nuts, I’ve been stockpiling a few mysterious signs, hoping that at some point their meanings will emerge. These signs, all from shops selling food, defeat and delight me. I offer one or two interpretations and invite you to add your own commentary. First up is this beauty, which appears on a chalkboard in front of a hip (i.e. overpriced) restaurant:

 

I prefer maximal, myself.

I prefer maximal, myself.

 

My interpretation: You may find a grain or two (sand? wheat? spelt?) in the food, but grainophobes have nothing to fear here. Same restaurant, different sign:

 

Bring a lasso.

Bring a lasso.

My interpretation: The loaf lopes around the dining room. If  you can catch it, you can eat it. Or, the loaf parties all night and won’t follow any rules.

One more, from a different store:

Two-foot ceilings.

Two-foot ceilings?

 

My interpretations: This shop (a) sells neatly ironed, fruit-based beverages or (b) was a normal- height building before King Kong’s foot flattened it.

Your ideas are welcome. As you interpret the meaning, though, keep in mind that these signs appear in New York City, which may be defined as having a

Oh, yes we are.

Oh, yes we do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hyphens Needed

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Hyphens are the poor relations of the punctuation world. They hardly ever get the respect they deserve as regulators of meaning. Take this photo that my friend Deborah sent, for example. She snapped it at a spa. It’s a bit blurry, and so is its message:

Hyphens matter.

Good luck arguing with the employees here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mother would have won “employee of the month” at this spa because she had the “silent treatment” down pat, having practiced it extensively on me and my brother. I bet you know a few experts at this tool for emotional extortion, too. Of course, the sign most likely refers to spaces where talking is not allowed during treatment. But why guess? A hyphen would clear up any confusion. “Silent-treatment rooms” are where you deal with a glacier masquerading as a human; “silent treatment-rooms” are where your masseuse or physical therapist shuts up.

Here’s another hyphen-challenged sign:

Calling all cold boxes?

Calling all cold boxes?

 

Does this shop offer to store boxes that freeze your fingers when you touch them? If so, what’s in the boxes? Evidence of your latest serial killing?  Or do the shop owners place room-temperature boxes inside refrigerators? And why would you want to hire someone to do so instead of storing your frozen food at home? Are you really that hungry?

I can’t end this post without mentioning two other friends, Ed and Don, who each pointed out a variation on the missing-hyphen theme:  “one night stand,” which, hyphenated, could be furniture (“one night-stand”) or a fling (one-night stand). If you indulge in the latter, you get to visit the silent treatment rooms. . . er, I mean the silent-treatment rooms.

Oxymorons

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I’ve always been fascinated by oxymorons –  phrases that appear to contradict themselves, such as “jumbo Shrimp” and “ground pilot.” My favorite is the single-word oxymoron “sanction,” which means both “impose a penalty” and “give official approval.”  I propose extending the definition to include signs that fall into the category I call “visual oxymorons.” I see plenty in New York City. Have a look at this photo, which my husband snapped at a chain store:

To leave or not to leave, that is the question.

To leave or not to leave, that is the question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m wondering whether Jean-Paul Sartre, author of “No Exit,” is responsible for this sign. Or perhaps Joseph Heller, who wrote “Catch 22”? The door on the right, which doesn’t appear in the photo, sports an “enter” sign. So at least you know which door you can use to not exit.

Here’s another beautiful example of illogic:

To whom?

To whom?

 

“Wholesale” generally refers to buyers who order a large quantity of merchandise and then sell the stuff to the public after a considerable markup. Nothing wrong with that; everyone has to make a living. In NYC’s Garment District, where many storefronts display samples of their wares to buyers from around the country, signs near the door often specifically bar the general public and advise that they are “wholesale only” sites. Not this store. You can shop there if  . . . well, under what circumstances can you shop there?  Note that the sign doesn’t say, “Wholesale prices for the general public,” which would make sense. The alternative wording has middle-marketers engaging in the business tactic known as “loss-leading.” They forgo profits on some items (those sold at wholesale prices) in order to attract customers, who would perhaps select other, more expensive stuff in addition to the bargain merchandise. Questionable business practice this may be, but at least the meaning is clear.

I could post more examples of visual oxymorons (and have – check out “And in Confusion” (http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=769). Instead, I invite you to snd me photos of oxymorons you’ve spotted (grammarianinthecity@outlook.com) . Use “photo” in the subject line.

The most unkindest cut

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Shakespeare’s Marc Antony was onto something when he referred to Brutus’s stab at Julius Caesar as the “most unkindest cut of all” – something that  this New York City barber seems determined to avoid:

Nice to know they're kind to senior citizens and kids.

Nice to know the barber is kind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t able to determine what the gray tape covered. Perhaps it was “except when we’re annoyed” or another disclaimer? And is that where the little red dots come from – scissor stabs?  Regardless, I do prefer “kind cuts” from my salon, and I’m sure you do also. I am a bit upset by the lack of apostrophes, which create a warning that “senior citizens cut” and doesn’t explain whether old people with scissors make “kind” or cruel stabs and slashes. No guarantees after 65, I guess. At least when “kids haircut,” the only possible victim is a tress.

I can’t leave this sign without asking whether anyone knows what a “tape-up” is. Maybe something to do with the duct tape near the top of the sign? Nor have I a clue about the definition of “skin fade.” I’ve seen odd (to me) stubble-on-a-scalp looks, but wouldn’t those be “hair fades”?  And does “shape up” command you to finally get serious about dieting and exercise? Theories welcome.

W/ ?

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Although I often mock the signs I see around NYC, this one has me well and truly stumped. I chanced upon it in a hardware store near Lincoln Center, posted atop a gleaming, stainless steel box that would never fit into any Manhattan kitchen I’ve ever seen. It seems to promise something, but what? Take a look. Maybe you can figure it out.

W/ what?

W/ what?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I get that the abbreviation “w/” stands for “with.” After that, I’m clueless. I should have taken advantage of the offer to “ask associate for details,” but I was late for lunch and the display model, contrary to its advertised “w/ Food,” contained nothing edible. So I left, perplexed and full of questions. Does “w/ Food” mean it’s filled up once, on delivery, or always – a kind of cornucopia that magically refills itself? That last option might be worth the hefty price. But who chooses the food? And are we talking macadamia nuts and lobster or lentils and frozen peas?

This sign, I ultimately decided, is part of a trend. Throw meaningless words at shoppers and hope that they’ll be impressed and confused enough to buy what you’re marketing, even though they haven’t the vaguest idea what that is. Kind of like the current US presidential race.

So over to you, readers. Think of this blog post as a contest, like the weekly cartoon-caption challenge in The New Yorker. The prize for the best interpretation of “w/ Food” is, well, nothing.

Yes, I’m cheap. But I’m also honest and clear. Unlike this sign.

Covering Up

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The site: an elegant building in midtown with a glassblock wall rising maybe thirty feet, topped by the usual brick construction for many, many feet beyond that. A small patch of greenery, waist-high. In the middle, this paper sign (slightly the worse for wear after a rainy afternoon):

Lean, yes. Sit, no

Lean, yes. Sit, no

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The applicable dictionary definition of “façade” is “the face of a building.” Unless you have Spider-Man’s powers, it’s hard to imagine that you can sit on a façade. You can, of course, lean against it, if (in this location) you don’t mind trampling some perfectly innocent ivy.

The second definition of “façade” is “an outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant reality.” In a normal election year, I’d mention that politicians lean (as in “rely”) on facades all the time to conceal their “less than pleasant” plans or personality. This particular presidential campaign, though, gives me pause, and not just because I disagree with most policies of many candidates and some policies of all candidates. If this crew is leaning on a façade, it can only be to conceal a more pleasant reality.

With the possible exception of nudist camps, did you ever think you’d miss cover-ups?  Campaign 2016 is indeed different.

Speechless in New York

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It takes a lot to shut New Yorkers up, especially this one. But every once in a while I see a photo that leaves me speechless. Here’s one, sent by my friend Jacqueline:

Pork for Hanukkah?

Pork for Hanukkah?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The only way to deepen the irony would be to add a shrimp cocktail appetizer. (For those unfamiliar with Jewish dietary laws, neither pork nor shrimp is kosher.)

One more, from a barber shop:

You have to ask for scissors?

You have to ask for scissors?

 

I won’t comment on “hair line clean up,” though that line makes me picture barbers with pointy sticks and trash bags, patrolling the border between forehead and hair, like work-release prisoners on a garbage-strewn beach. Instead, I’ll focus on the middle line. I know little about barbering tools, and my “stylist,” who refrains from sighing when he asks if I want “the usual” during my thrice yearly visits, snips away with scissors automatically.  So I’m perplexed. If you don’t request scissors at this salon, how does the barber cut your hair? With a lawn mower? A scythe?

Okay, I wasn’t speechless after all. If you aren’t either, please feel free to add your comments.