Sign Up Here

           I love hilarious signs, and on our recent trip up California’s coast, St. Bob and I found several. This is not only an area of gorgeous crashing waves, but of cattle ranches.  I like this warning sign:          

          Notice how they fixed it, but then left the first, misspelled one up, anyway. And the bird couldn’t care less. Then there was this one:

         I half expect another sign below it, saying, “Seriously. You have no idea.” And then this one:

Which truly speaks for itself.

          And there are  always companies who don’t think ahead, about how their name will look on a website, all crammed together:

          As we parked to go whale watching, I couldn’t help wondering why someone hadn’t added an IA or an ICAL to the bottom of this one:

          And finally, I learned there are actually people in this world who EXCHANGE avocados. Who knew?

          There’s still so much to learn, right?  Find even more by watching my Youtube Mom videos, full of life hacks and fun information.

Signs of the Times

          I’m walking through the hospital hallways to get a CT-Scan, and I see a door bearing this sign:

          I can’t help wondering how an alarm can be silent.  Does that not negate its very ability to sound an alarm?  Or does a mime burst into your office trying to look like the Silent Scream painting?

          What is it with facilities and their signs? You may remember one of my blogs from four years ago that featured this goody, again from my hospital:

          Seriously? We’re to respect rattlesnakes at a HOSPITAL? Why not just be honest, and post a donation box with a sign that says, “Saving up for an exterminator. Please contribute here”?

          And you may recall another of my blogs that featured this puzzling sign in a local office building:

          I can only assume it’s a lab we do not wish to know about,  where the animals have taken over, tied up the scientists, and are now roasting marshmallows over a fire made from lab coats and paperwork.

          I can’t help wondering what the office parties are like at sign factories. I’m guessing they have a contest to decide the craziest projects they’ve worked on. But you probably wouldn’t want to open that door, either.

Speaking of doors, St. Bob used to host Let’s Make a Deal, and would offer Doors Number 1, 2,  or 3 to contestants. But even the zonks were better than what I imagine hides behind some real doors.

About Town with Joni

          Charles Kuralt was a popular TV journalist years ago, and many of us recall his “On the Road” segments for The CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite.  He always found something quirky or charming in the nooks and crannies of the U.S. And he would have loved my town.  Yes, because it often exemplifies the folksy goodness he so enjoyed. But also because it serves up a continuous supply of material.  Here are just three examples of things I’ve seen lately, simply by tooling around here:

          This one was in a public restroom where, I can only assume, visitors LOVE toilet paper. They simply cannot get enough, and will swipe-a-wipe to satisfy their craving.  OR… they want the heavy bar holding the paper, for who knows what purpose.

          This is a company that has diminished its motto simply by adding quotation marks.  Like saying your café is a “quality” restaurant, it makes the reader question your claim. We’ve all seen people make air quotes as they refer to an “expert” who isn’t one, or a “vacation” that went sideways.

          And in this case, are they not quite changing the rules? Only pretending, perhaps? Or are they changing something, but it’s not really the rules, per se, just perceived rules.  Or maybe we should wonder what’s wrong with the old rules, that they need changing-- Were the old rules too demanding, and now they’ve thrown punctuality and safety to the wind?

          And this one was a pleasant surprise when I was filling out another medical form. On and on the pages went, asking for all my medications, all diagnosed ailments, you know the drill.  Then I came to this section about emotional adjustment, titled CORING.  I know they meant coping, and goodness knows typists can get tired, but this particular typo had me wondering if they wanted to get at the core of all our feelings. AND, if they even glance at these forms before printing them up.

          The top question says, “Since you became ill, have you felt any of the following?” and there’s a blank space for “other,” where you can write something in. I thought about writing, “Increased irritation with typos,” but then thought, nah, these aren’t irritating. They’re entertaining. Awkward and Upward!

Don’t you just want to drive around town all the time and find local  amusement?  FREE local amusement?  I hate to bring up the word, free, and then ask you to buy my books, but they are available here, and for only a modest fee (which is 75% of the word, free).

Close That Door!

A girlfriend of mine who subscribes to this blog recently asked how so many funny things keep happening to me. I wish I knew.  All I know is that I will never run out of material, both a blessing and a curse.

Here is the latest one. I had an appointment in an office building, but when I got there, I discovered it was a huge complex of several buildings.  So I parked and then popped into the closest one to get directions.  Hmm.   No reception desk.  So I wandered down a hallway, and saw this sign:

Yes, you cannot make this stuff up. Can you imagine what’s going on behind that door?  I figure all hell has broken loose in a science lab, with monkeys and kangaroos leaping about, smashing beakers, and sending lab-coated scientists under the desks for cover.  Even if it’s just guinea pigs, believe-you-me, they can create a good bit of mayhem.  I (unwisely) allowed our daughter to breed them when she was in junior high, so she could learn about genetics.  Trust me; there’s plenty of genetic info online.

Or perhaps this is the office of a jokester.  I would certainly enjoy posting a sign like that, just for amusement’s sake.  Years ago I heard of a brilliant burglar deterrent.  You post a sign on your front door that says, “Beware of Dangerous Pyracantha.  If confronted, do not try to run, just back away slowly.”  Then you put a big, empty cage on your front porch, with its door open.

Of course, this assumes that burglars don’t know what a pyracantha is.  It’s a plant and it looks like this:

Still, a sign like that on your home would be a great idea.  And the other one is perfect for your office. Or maybe it’s just a preschool.  Either way, you can believe I did not open that door.

Have you checked out my website, lately?  No scary tabs that lead to maniacal creatures, I promise.  Just lots of fun videos to watch and some terrific books to buy!

Signing Up

You may recall that my last blog post was about visiting a friend in the hospital.  But what you did not know is that this is the sign posted just inches from the entrance:

          To my way of thinking, this beats a “No Solicitors” sign all to pieces.  Seriously, is there a message more opposite of “Welcome”?  What I like is the bottom part, urging you to “Give them distance and respect.”  Can’t you just see it?  A rattler’s fangs are sunk into your ankle and you’re shaking your foot, yelling, “But I respected you!” 

          This is not the only curious sign in my neck of the woods.  Sometimes you find amusing signs in local supermarkets.  I love a bargain, so from time to time I stroll down the aisle of a decidedly discounted market where you can find not only low prices, but low humor:

          It makes you wonder if people who are unable to control their bladders are all gathered on that aisle, having a support meeting.

          Another store, another aisle, we see listings of general categories.  And then, suddenly, a specific brand of a specific item: Pop Tarts.  But get this: There are no Pop Tarts on that aisle, anywhere.

          Even on the roadways there are curious signs.  This truck’s sign says Electrick Motorsports: 

          And maybe that extra K is because a guy named Rick owns it, who knows?  But it reminds me of a campaign poster: Elect Rick. In any case, he has my vote because I like golf carts and that’s what they sell.  Not sure if driving in a golf cart is an actual sport, but then the way I’d drive one, I think it might qualify.

You’ve simply got to buy my humorous novel, Sisters in the Mix. The main character fixes the grammar on public signs, among other pursuits.  And if you’ve never actually done that, at least you can live vicariously.

Sign Here

           Once again I’ve been driving around greater Sacramento, noticing signs that make you look twice.  And maybe that’s the idea—if you really want to get someone’s attention, post something so outrageous that they not only look, but look again and take a picture of it.

            Here’s one on the door of a large business with several offices:

            I can only assume the writer of this sign is a Francophile and wishes they were in Paris or Provence at the moment.  And don’t we all?  Maybe if we go inside that room they’ll have little Eiffel Tower lamps, poodles, and a table laden with escargot and maracons.

            The next one was no accident.  Apparently I’ve been out of the loop on burglary matters (those careless burglars, not utilizing social media or newsletters to educate the rest of us!) and I didn’t know this was a thing.  But it is.  Turns out the police put a dummy car (I’ve had a few of those in my lifetime, by the way) in a parking structure, and then when someone steals it, whammo—they catch ‘em.

            It puzzles me.  Of the hundreds of cars that park in that downtown garage, what are the odds that a thief will choose the one and only car placed there by the police?  Even if the officers have picked a popular model among car thieves, aren’t the odds of it being stolen incredibly slim?  Or am I just in a bad neighborhood where five or six cars disappear from this building every day?  And wouldn’t video cameras be a cheaper, more efficient way to catch car thieves?  I mean, what if they pick a car other than the decoy duck?  These things get reported, I do believe.  And then the cops can scroll through the day’s footage and see exactly what happened.  Of course, they cannot always trace the car to the chop shop where organized criminals (but not organized enough to have a newsletter, mind you) have stashed it.

            Some might claim that the sign, alone, will discourage theft.  But, assuming you’re a thief, what if you don’t speak English, don’t read, or don’t happen to go through that entrance where the sign is posted?  What if you’re too short to see the sign?  What if you sneeze and blink as you’re hurrying in, and you miss it?  What if you have an accomplice, and they block your view of the sign?  What if you’re wearing burglar attire (hoodie and sunglasses) and can’t see it?  Maybe they should post one of those scrolling light boards at the exit, where everyone has to read it upon leaving.

            Speaking of driving, this last sign is my favorite.  It’s one of three that look pretty much the same, and are posted under the counters at my local Department of Motor Vehicles.  Next time you’re waiting at the DMV, you can conduct a party game, asking everyone to guess what these signs originally said.

            Spoiler alert: I’m going to tell you.  They say, “Please Do Not Leave Children Unattended.”  Don’t you just want to write, underneath, “because this is what will happen”?   Obviously kids have picked off the lettering, placed perfectly at their height, while their parents have stood at the counters, oblivious, talking with DMV clerks.  Seriously, these signs look like unsolved Wheel of Fortune puzzles.  I asked one clerk if I could buy a vowel and told him I’d like to solve the puzzle, but he wasn’t amused.

            Think about it.  What would it cost to fix those signs and then just put a square of plexiglass over them?  Or paint the signs, instead of using removable letters?  Wait—I have it!  Maybe those letters are rigged by the police, and once stolen, can be traced to the pre-school where the culprit is hiding.  Although I didn’t see a warning sign about that.

            Have you subscribed to my YouTube Mom videos, yet?  I can help you with everything imaginable, just like your actual mom.  One of the latest ones is about nagging (ahem). Check ‘em out!  

A Fainting Spell

          I don’t know if you’ve ever been invited to a piano rectal, but it’s sure to be more interesting than one without accompaniment, no?

          Misspellings abound.  And we all make them (come on, admit to the occasional typo, at least).  But I am always perplexed when they occur after several sets of eyes have seen the wording.  

          Think about it—how many people have to approve a printed program, an invitation, a public sign?  You have the creator, their friends, the company producing the printed item, the painter perhaps—at least a dozen people.  And yet you see misspellings everywhere.   Even the word misspell gets misspelled.

          

          Just driving around the Sacramento area where I live, I’ve seen two such slip-ups this week.  The first is this street sign:

          Lest you think both signs are wrong—one for ocelot and one for suave-- I must tell you that this is wine country and soave is an Italian white wine that’s pronounced So-Ah-Ve, so I’m going to give them a pass on that one.  But oselot?  No such word and no such animal.  And we can only put just so much blame on the school system—I fault the developers here.  Who in their right mind wants to live on a misnamed street?

          The next blatant error was on the side of a truck.  Apparently they cannot even spell the very thing they rent.  Nor can the truck painters.  In case this is too small for you to read, it says, "Equiptment Rental."

          I’m thinking I might attend that piano rectal, after all.  Why should the child be punished for the carelessness of an adult who made up the invitations?  Just as I was happy to attend a Boy Scout Court of Honor where a poem called “The Uninformed Boy” was front and center on the program.  The boys were sitting there in their uniforms, and it was someone else entirely who was uninformed.

If you love words, you’ll love Sisters in the Mix, in which one of my characters takes grammar and spelling just a pinch too far.