Tag Archives: ironic signs

When?

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Common wisdom holds that “it’s all in the timing.” Fine. But what time are we talking about? Here’s a sign I saw on the window of a bar:

So polite! And a semicolon, too.

So polite! And a semicolon, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The image is a little blurry, so I’ll repeat the message here: “Please respect our neighbors; try to avoid loud talking after a certain time. Merci. Amelie.” The courtesy is impressive, and the punctuation flawless. My only problem: When is “after a certain time”? Noon? Midnight? Now?

Here’s another, posted on the door of a construction shed:

Use it permanently.

Temporarily.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think we can all agree that walking into “heavy demolition” is a bad idea. I’d have no problem with “Do not use this doorway until further notice” or simply “Go Away! Heavy Demolition!” What I don’t get is the concept of “temporarily.” Can you use this doorway permanently? If there’s heavy demolition going on, “permanently” for anyone who uses the doorway may be a very short period of time.  Amelie, the bar owner, would probably say, “Do not use this doorway until a certain time.”

Speaking of time, it’s time for my vacation. Woods out — temporarily.

 

How Are You?

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I’m fine, thanks. I hope you are too. But if you’re not, any number of businesses in New York City will help you out. Take this one, for instance:

How much for a couple of hours of pride?

How much for a couple of hours? A lifetime supply?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Self-esteem low? No problem. Just buy or rent some “pride.” Send some to your friends, too. But if you use this company, check the destination carefully:

Destinations within the city are NOT covered.

Destinations within NYC are NOT covered. No peace of mind there!

This shipping company isn’t revealing which places have “peace of mind.” Can’t you just picture the conversation:

CUSTOMER: Please send this package to Los Angeles.

CLERK: Sorry. Too much anxiety there.

It could be, given the state of the world, that this company ships only to Bhutan, which is famous for measuring the “Gross National Happiness” of its people. Maybe they also cover a couple of communes left over from the Sixties.

Never fear. If you can’t send pride (or anything else) with that shipping company, try money:

Whose friends?

Whose friends?

Just a few questions first: Whose money is the app sending? To the bank’s friends? To your friends? How many of your friends? And what if you don’t have any friends at “a growing number of other banks”? Or any friends in your bank? Or any friends at all? Oh wait: Then you can rent some pride, realize that you’re actually quite popular, and zap fifty bucks through the app. Problem solved.

Take a break from debate

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Pretty much everyone I know has been debating The Debate since it ended, analyzing every facial expression, body movement, and comment. It’s time to take a break!  Apply your analytical skills to these signs and answer the questions that follow. Send me your answers, but don’t expect any prizes. Sign number one:

Not an ordinary palm.

No ordinary palms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Questions: Is your palm special? Is it worth ten dollars?

On to sign number two:

Shorten your doctors here.

Shorten your doctors here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What sort of alteration does this shop offer to professionals? Does it nip in a billowy lawyer, cut up a surgeon, or dye a mortician? OR – Do they think other shops employ amateur tailors?

And sign number three, from an awning on a busy Manhattan street:

 

Serving Manhattan's farm animals.

Serving Manhattan’s farm animals.

 

Does East 74th Street qualify as “country”? Do the proprietors believe that farmers will bring their livestock there? Or do the proprietors need “professional alteration” (see sign number three)?

Now for my favorite:

What's a "tworl"?

What’s a “tworl”?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is this a line from “Jabberwocky”? If not, what does it mean?

Bad Mood

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New Yorkers are not normally celebrated for their cheery outlook, and current events haven’t improved the mood around the city. So this photo, sent by my friend Catherine, seems particularly relevant right now:

All natural ingredients!

All natural ingredients.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gripe jelly – gives a whole new slant on “you are what you eat,” doesn’t it? If your New Year’s resolution was to be more peaceful,  you may want to avoid the jelly at this Lexington Avenue deli.

Moving on, here’s a sign from a truck parked on East 78th Street:

I can break my remote all by myself, thanks.

Remote control breaking?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was under the impression that most people break the remote all by themselves. I do it all the time, usually by dropping it in a bowl of whatever I’m eating while I watch TV. But if this sign is accurate, you can hire someone else for that chore. Busy New Yorkers, take note. Alternate interpretation: If it’s too much trouble to attend, say, a political debate and bang your head against the wall in frustration, a techie will break your skull with a keystroke at a distant (probably outsourced) computer company. How convenient.

By the way, if anyone actually understands the meaning of “remote control breaking,” please let me know. In the meantime, snack on some gripe jelly and enjoy your bad mood.

Numbers Game

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In the spirit of “five out of four people don’t understand fractions,” I present these gems from math-challenged sign-makers:

How much more or less?

How much more and less?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forgive me for relying on logic here, but isn’t “more and less” a contradiction? Perhaps the writer meant “more or less,” a description that could apply to a penny and to a trillion bucks. At least that interpretation might be true.  “More and less,” on the other hand, could only mean . . . well, what could it mean? Ideas welcome.

And then there’s time. Einstein’s theory of relativity (but not math) is alive and well in NYC:

Long week.

Long week.

 

The above photo is from a store named Muji, where a week lasts thirty days. One can only hope that the employees are paid by the hour.

The next sign proves that government is just as “innumerate” (the number version of “illiterate”) as private enterprise:

Weak on "week."

Weak on the definition of “week.”

 

If anyone tells you that government employees indulge in four-day weeks, especially in the summer, whip out this sign. In New York City, Restaurant Week lasts 26 days.

 

Thanks for nothing

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Recently I took advantage of New York City’s IDNYC program, which gave me an official photo ID and a raft of free membership offers to some of the city’s best museums. In redeeming one of those membership offers at an institution I won’t embarrass by naming, I received an email thanking me for my “contribution of $0.00” and telling me that donations such as mine “support the work of the museum.” If that’s true, the museum is probably nearing bankruptcy. Continue reading →

Magritte in NYC

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On this Bastille Day, I am pleased to report that Rene Magritte is alive and well and creating art in New York City:

"Ceci n'est pas une 'bike stand.'"

“Ceci n’est pas une ‘bike stand.'”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the sake of comparison, here is one of Magritte’s earlier works:

To see the original, go to Los Angeles.

To see the original, go to Los Angeles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In case you’re wondering about the power of art, I staked out this spot for a while, to see whether a bicycle would be chained to it.  New Yorkers do sometimes interpret a prohibition as a dare. But no bikes appeared. Either the sign is very effective or the glowering shop owner, who was standing next to this tree every time I passed, scares cyclists into compliance. Either way, enjoy Bastille Day. (Especially you, Don and Avram, my art historian friends.)

Ritual Pick-Up

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I spotted this sign in a food court near Battery Park in Lower Manhattan. I lurked for a while, hoping to see what sort of customers or services were associated with it. But it was a holiday weekend, when most New Yorkers were anywhere-but-here, so I was left alone with my speculations.

Rituals, outsourced.

All I wanted was coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First, I concentrated on “ritual.” This is a city with its own unit of time — a “New York minute,”  which lasts only a couple of nanoseconds and which a comedian once defined as “the interval between the traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.” To save time, New Yorkers will do almost anything. So, I reasoned, if you’re too busy to plan, say, a wedding ceremony, a baptism, or a bar mitzvah, you can pick one up here. And if the timing is right, your next life event may even be on sale.

Then I shifted my attention to “pick-up.” Perhaps, I thought,  this is where you meet when you’ve donned your sexiest outfit, artfully mussed your hair, and practiced lines like “Come here often?” or “What’s your sign?” or “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes/great abs?” Nice to know that the hackneyed has an official spot in NYC, I thought.

A quick Internet search revealed that an app called “Ritual” allows you to order and pay for food online, which you then pick up at this location. Efficient and useful, true, but much less fun than my interpretations.

 

 

Business Bites and other follies

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I recently ate at a local pub, but instead of concentrating on the food (which was actually quite good), I spent the time trying to figure out the meaning of these words, which appeared in large type on the menu: “Business Bites Lunch.” There was no punctuation in the original, so I’m assuming this is not a sentence about pin-striped-suiters gnawing on midday meals. The only alternative meaning I could come up with was that “business” is biting into the time allotted for lunch.  Your ideas welcome.

And then there’s this sign:

Which executive would you like to eat for lunch?

Which executive would you like to eat for lunch?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Continue reading →

Plan Ahea

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Lest you think that my photographic skills (minimal at best) are responsible for the strange messages on these signs, let me assure you that what you see here is what I saw there, with “there” being New York City.  The first was tacked to the inside of a shop window:

Ou. My favorite non-word. An. My second favorite.

Ou: my favorite non-word. An: my second favorite.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, I know what they were trying to say. But isn’t it fun to speculate about the missing letters? First, the OU: “Please visit oubliette” (for horror/dungeon fans). Or “Outback” (for those seeking a restaurant). Maybe “outdoors,” “outlook,” or “outcropping” (for nature lovers) or “outcasts” (for compassionate souls).  Now the AN: “self service analgesic” or “anti-venom” (for snakebite victims). Perhaps “analogy,” “Anglican,” “anapest,” or “antonyms” (for English teachers).

I could go on, but I need space for this one:

A rat by any other name . . .

A rat by any other name . . .

 

Instead of completing the last word, I choose to see this message as complete. The company caters to groups of rats (semi-) regulated by the SEC. Keep that in mind the next time your boss throws an office party.

I’m not sure how this post appears on your device. When I check new posts on my laptop, they often appear fine. Then, when I see the same post on my tablet, I find extra or missing spaces. Tech devices, for all they have evolved, do not always play nicely together. These signs, however,  were printed on paper. There is no excuse for lopping off one edge.

In making your own signs, take care to allow enough room for the whole message. In other words, plan ahea.