Tag Archives: ironic signs

Stop full stop.

I’m not against periods, the punctuation mark the British call “full stops.” But everything has its place. Traditionally, periods appear at the end of sentences that make statements or give commands. They’re also used in abbreviations. Lately, though, periods have been popping up in odd positions, as in this sign in front of a coffee shop:

Why is there a period after “birch”?

The shop’s name is “Birch” — I think. It may be “Birch.” Or is it “Birch. coffee”? And why is the period there at all? Is it supposed to add authority or emphasis? Perhaps the store owner wanted to give a sense of completion, as in “sip your latte here and your life will be complete.” The only thing I know for sure is that the punctuation mark doesn’t indicate a command. (“Hey you! Birch now or face the consequences!) Nor does it end a statement, because there is no statement.

I expect strange things from retailers, but somehow I thought that religious institutions, with help from the Almighty, would do better. At least I thought so until I spied this sign:

This church needs heavenly punctuation guidance.

True, this sign contains more words than the café sign, but they don’t form a sentence. The church indeed appears to be “warm, welcoming and beautiful,” but not grammatical.

Nor can you count on the banking system to come to a full stop (in punctuation or in finance):

Two nonsensical, non-sentences appear in one sign.

I don’t expect “pleasure” from my bank. Do you? The “2% cash back” sounds great — but 2% of what? And back to whom? I can’t blame the Great Recession on faulty punctuation, but a lack of clarity in bank communications appears in both. Just saying.

My advice: For a period of time, let’s agree to put a stop to unnecessary full stops. Then we can decide whether to give this punctuation mark additional duties. That is, “Extra. Duties.”

Contradictory Words

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As I worked my leisurely way through the Sunday paper a week ago, one phrase stopped me in my tracks. The New York Times, which should know better, referred to a “very mediocre” rock band. According to my dictionary, “mediocre” means “moderate” or “not very good.” So “very mediocre” means “very moderate” or “very not very good.” Aren’t you glad I cleared that up? Nice to know that something can be extremely not extreme.

That experience sent me to my picture files, to see whether I had any photos of signs with contradictory meanings. I found this one:

A specialized generalist.

When I was a kid, my doctor was a “general practitioner.” He was good at many areas of medicine, but when things got interesting, he sent me to a specialist. This sign in a 24-hour, no-appointment-necessary, storefront clinic leads me to believe that the “multispecialty physicians” inside are, in fact, the 2016 version of “general practitioners.” They may have the medical equivalent of several masters degrees, but I doubt it. I’m not complaining about the medical aspect of this sign. The docs inside may provide excellent care. I am complaining about the language, which is much less precise (I hope) than the diagnoses and remedies dispensed there.

One more example of a contradictory statement comes from an official notice taped to a streetlight on my corner, announcing a public hearing on issues affecting the neighborhood. Here’s item three of the agenda:

Restricted to?

Turning again to the dictionary, I found that “restricted” means “admitting only members of a particular class.” Thus a street “restricted to” vendors is a street where vendors are allowed — but nothing or no one else. No stores, cars, residents, annoying little kids on scooters — you get the point. I spent the rest of my walk trying to reword the agenda item to reflect the most likely intended meaning: how to keep hotdog carts, ice cream trucks, tables piled with “designer” handbags, and other such vendors off the block. Expressing this idea concisely was surprisingly hard. “Restricted from” doesn’t do the job, nor does “restricted against.” I came up with “barred,” in this revised wording: “Discussion of the process of barring venders from a street.” Alternate versions welcome.

I know I’m being picky (what else is new?), but I do believe that language should be precise. How different would our current political campaign be if every candidate followed this principle, even if their command of the language was “very mediocre”!

Extra! Read all about it all!

Short takes

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No lengthy discussion today. These signs speak for themselves. True, they speak gibberish, but they do speak.

First up is a photo my friend Jacqueline sent me:

What brand is your kid?

Ignoring the pretty important fact that baby-selling is illegal, I’m surprised that babies are branded. If you purchase one, does the kid come with a little logo?

Here’s another puzzler:

Look younger with what?

So you wear the spa, accessorized with pearls? That would be quite a fashion ensemble! And do you have to have the spa custom-fitted?

One more for today:

Define “organized.”

If you’re completely disorganized (and just about every kids’ sport I’ve seen falls into that category, as do the Yankees at times), you’re fine. If you’re organized, go somewhere else.

Maybe somewhere with signs that make sense.

Live from NY, it’s Mother Nature!

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New Yorkers tend to see nature as something you beat into submission by (a) covering it with concrete or (b) manicuring it so that any semblance to actual greenery and wildlife is accidental. My favorite moment during a recent blizzard took place outside Eli’s, a fashionable (and expensive) food store on the Upper East Side. A store employee was loading plastic-wrapped logs into a taxi, presumably so their new owner — who was wearing high heels! in the snow! — could keep warm. Roughing it, New York style.

But I digress. This post is about signs in Central Park, Manhattan’s closest brush with nature. The first appeared near a large open space dotted with some tufts of . . . well, some tufts. (I’m a New Yorker. Don’t ask me to identify plants.)

Renovation: Not just for houses anymore.

I can envision “reseeding,” “rehabilitation,” or even “new sod.” But “renovation”? Nor was I aware that a lawn could be “closed.” The day I snapped this photo, the sparrow population of the area hadn’t gotten the message.

Logically, anything that’s closed can open. Hence this sign:

Unzip each blade of grass . . .

Even the animal kingdom is subject to New Yorkers’ orders:

Noisy turtles, beware.

Good to know that, as in Amtrak’s quiet cars, no one around this pond will be distracted by turtles talking on cell phones or playing loud music. Now if we could just get the snapping turtles to tone it down a little . . .

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:

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?

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.

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?

“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.

Illegal Words

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The scene: I’m chopping turnips and listening to my local public radio station. The action: The announcer promises an extended report on “illegal spying” after the break. The reaction: I spend the next ten minutes wondering if “legal spying” exists. The consequences: I lose a thin slice of fingertip to inattention and have to rinse blood off the turnips. Denouement: I decide that “illegal spying” falls into the same category as “victorious traitor.” If you win, you control the language. That’s why no “traitor” ever gains power. A “traitor” who succeeds is a “rebel” or a “patriot” (see “American Revolution”). So James Bond isn’t engaging in “illegal spying” in the eyes of the British government. The nation spied upon, however, holds a different opinion. If James Bond gets caught, he goes to prison. Of course, James Bond never does get caught, not permanently anyway. Why ruin a franchise that reaps billions?

But I digress. This post isn’t about potboiler-blockbusters. It’s about legality and the words that describe it. Take a look at this sign:

P1010935 (3)

These words appear at a construction site, on the side of a shed that protects pedestrians from any falling debris. The ceiling of this shed is maybe twelve or fifteen feet high, level with the apartment windows on the second floor of the building. (How nice for the occupants! They can chat with construction workers over morning coffee.) Back to language: “burglary” is a legal term for breaking and entering a building in order to commit a crime. Okay, that word makes sense, because the shed could facilitate entry into those second-floor apartments. But “hold up”? This is an informal term for “mugging” or any robbery committed with a weapon. Technically, the same bad guys sneaking through a window could “hold-up” the occupants, but this action is already covered under “burglary.” So why use both terms?

I didn’t lose a fingertip to this one, but I did speculate all the way home. Did the sign-maker envision armed robbers atop the scaffolding, taking wallets and jewelry from residents strolling on top of the shed? For a block or two I decided that the protection was for pedestrians under the shed – a sort of “walk through here and you’ll be safe” notice. Then I realized that “pedestrians” aren’t “premises.” So that theory bit the dust. At the end of the walk, I decided that another definition of “hold-up” worked best: “delay.” This company promises that the building will be “electronically protected” against missing sheetrock, striking workers, and four-hour lunch breaks. Now that is something worth paying for.

Shop for . . .

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Who’s selling what, and where? The answers to those questions should be fairly obvious. Should be, but aren’t, as evidenced by the signs of New York, which increasingly appear to be written by people who assume we’re all clueless. In another post, found at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=735, I discuss a sign explaining that the drugstore has a “pharmacy dep’t. within.” (Oh good. I hate when pharmacists fill prescriptions on the sidewalk.) On the other end of the huh? spectrum is a “Sidewalk Sale Inside” sign. (See it at http://www.grammarianinthecity.com/?p=620).)

And then there’s the issue of what, exactly, is for sale. What would you purchase in this shop?

At least they're not roaming around the sidewalk.

At least the little guys are not roaming around the sidewalk.

I should point out that every item in the store windows, and everything visible behind the windows, was an article of clothing meant for small humans. These questions arise: (1) Why the imperative statement “SHOP”? Does this mean that “just looking” is grounds for ejection? (2) Why the plural noun “kids” and the singular noun “baby”? (3) Aren’t babies kids? So why “kids and baby”? (4) As the sidewalk outside the store was empty, why mention “inside”? I’m not discussing the missing noun “clothing.” The idea of shopping for people is too terrible to joke about.

Here’s another. Are you a big fan of holidays? If so, you may wish to purchase this one, at half price:

How much is New Year’s?

Think of the licensing fees you can collect next December! And here I thought the Christmas shopping season began right after Halloween. I guess it begins now, in early January, with the holiday itself on sale. Go for it!

Facing the new year

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Closing out 2015, I find three signs aptly express my feelings about this season. First:

Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Ditto. Sanity? Doubtful.

I checked the definition of “checkout,” which involves a summing up of obligations and payment thereof. This sign caught my eye, and not only because it signals a further decline in customer service. (I’ve just completed two transcontinental airline flights, so that topic is on much my mind.) What drew me is the “self” portion of the sign. January approaches, and like the Roman god Janus (who was probably not the source of the name “January”), I look both forward and back. But mostly I look inward, to “checkout” the state of my “self.” I won’t place my findings here – too private – nor will I stop as January ends. The unexamined life is not my style. Obsessive worrying, alas, is. (And yes, compulsive snark, too.)

Here’s the second sign:

To where?

I could insert a wish here – that the sign not be a prediction of my, your, or our collective future. But a daily dose of The New York Times shows, beyond a doubt, that a “rough road” is likely for all of us. Nor in good conscience can I insert a platitude – something about life’s bumps strengthening character. Sometimes life’s bumps lead only to bruises. Yet Yogi Berra – the late, great Yankee catcher and creative grammarian – gave good advice: When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Rough or not. After all, what’s the alternative?

Finally, no new year (and no New Year’s post) would be complete without a resolution. Mine begins with this sign:

Who wants to be “the top bell”?

I saw this sign behind a construction fence enclosing access to the Second Avenue Subway. It contains, in my opinion, the coolest job title ever. I resolve to become, by the end of this new year, “the top bell.” Whatever that is.

Grammarian in the City

Snarky remarks on language I see and hear in New York City

Tag Archives: ironic signs

Contradictory Words

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Illegal Words

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