Cephalogenic

or, stuff that I dragged out of my head

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Location: Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Sign of the Times

I sometimes feel sorry for people who get signs made up professionally. They're at the mercy of their own spelling ability and that of the sign-makers, and it seems to be a real coin-toss.

I once worked in a bookstore next to a small natural-clothing shop called Cotton Comfort. They made the mistake of ordering their shop signs--the kind that are made of translucent plastic and lit from behind by neon bulbs--from Qu├ębec, where French is the dominant language and "comfort" is not spelled quite the same way, resulting in two large, expensive signs that read COTTON CONFORT.

I was reminded of this when walking to work today. I saw a defunct building sporting a large professionally-made sign poorly obliterated with grey paint: the sign read ELITE MESSAGE CLUB AND ESCORT. It's possible that it really was a message club, whatever that's supposed to be, but I'm pretty sure that, coupled with an escort service, the place was offering massages. Not enough to stay in business, though: presumably the confused customers stayed away in droves.

Also on the way to work: a discarded supermarket crate that had once contained, according to the large-type, four-colour artwork, BEEFSTAKE TOMATOES.

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