I Saw The Sign, And It Opened Up My Eyes And I Am Happy Now And I Photographed It

Ever since they taught me English, I've pretty much read everything in sight. I love signs and little messages, always have. The major difference now is that I've almost always got a camera on me, and apparently I always turn it sideways. Sorry about that; if any passersby see you cocking your head to one side as you read my site, you can assure them that it's not porn.


My favorite kind of signs are these kind: homemade, but at an office. Somebody needed to say something in a certain place and situation, and he or she scampered off to a computer to quickly format and print it. What they're calling "Buggies" are what I grew up calling "shopping carts." I also like the grateful sign-off (dead giveaway of an amateur signmaker; the official guys never thank you for obeying) and I *love* the pictogram of the little guy running away from the fire. There's a certain urgency in his flailing white limbs that you don't often see in industrial hazards.

This is a grocery store label on some Q-Tips, which I've also written about before, and I like this one because I can see exactly what happened. I know, I know... the A is right there by the S, and the labelmaker keypad is so small, and the result is that it looks like Elmer Fudd has been deployed to the Middle East. "Ooh, you wascally Awabs!"

This one is from a cookout behind my old office -- that's Account Guy Ethan there on the left, schmoozing Mitch, the client, there on the right, while Art Director Ryon just kind of hangs onto his beer. And there, behind them, unfortunately obscured by the sunlight, is the sign that has hung on the building forever: "NO LOITERING"

Yikes. Since photographing this, I've seen a few more like it, but at the time, I thought this shop must be run by the Manson family. Who is buying this? How can you look in the mirror, set down the comb and say to yourself, "You know what I want? A bunch more hair. But not mine. And not some stinkin' animal's, either. I want a fistful of something that was excreted through somebody else's follicles, and I want it carefully attached to my head. Let's see if there are any bargains out there."

And this one I hesitate to even make fun of, because it's obviously an honorable and necessary service that Dr. Stan is providing. But still: $5 Rabies? I'll pass.