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Signs
of the times
by Mad Dog
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In Sebastopol they do
things differently. I passed a Buddhist center there with a big sign
out front that read: “Teriyaki – July 7th.”
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I
recently took a trip up the California coast and back down the
center, and if there’s one thing I learned—aside from the fact
that there isn’t enough salsa in the world to make a three-day-old
half-eaten burrito that rolls out from under the car seat taste as
good as when it was fresh—it’s that there are way too many signs
in this world.
Some signs are useful. The
ones that tell you how far the next town is are wonderful. Of course
they’d be better if a huge truck wasn’t always in the way when
you want to see them. Signs that let you know what road you’re on
are good too, especially since if you’re like me you spend half
your time wondering if you’re still on Hwy 101 or whether you
should have taken that turn about twenty miles back. And
McDonald’s signs are always welcome, not because you’re
desperate for food, but because it means you’ll be able to go to
the bathroom without worrying about whether anyone can see you
standing behind the open car door, wondering what to do with that
now full Coke can, or feeling like you have to buy a cup of coffee
at the Gouge-Mart™ so you can use their facilities, knowing that
if you do you’re going to have to pull over again in fifteen
minutes to eliminate it. And hope no one sees you standing behind
your open car door.
The first odd sign on this trip was in
Sebastopol. It’s common as you drive through small towns to see
signs promoting fundraising meals, such as the Fire Department’s
pancake breakfast, the Kiwanis’ Sunday tri-tip BBQ, and the high
school’s spaghetti dinner which they hope will raise enough money
to send thirty students to Dubuque for the state udder painting
finals. But in Sebastopol they do things differently. I passed a
Buddhist center there with a big sign out front that read:
“Teriyaki – July 7th.”
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Of course I
guess that’s what they said at Pearl Harbor and we all know how
that turned out—they took out a bunch of old battleships and gave
us Pokémon and Hello Kitty in return. |
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Many of the road signs we see are put up by state workers who
have a good sense of humor. I was driving down the windiest road
ever created—you know, all hairpin turns with a steep drop down
either side. After a few miles of crawling along at 4 mph and
chugging Dramamine I came across a sign that said, “Winding road,
next 6 miles.” Now that put a scare into me. Even scarier is the
fact that I wrote a note to myself about this while driving that
road.
Another favorite highway
sign is the one that says “Speed enforced by airplane.” I
don’t believe it, do you? Think about it. Even if they did use
planes you’d hear them coming and slow down. After all, airplanes
aren’t known for their ability to sneak up on you. Of course I
guess that’s what they said at Pearl Harbor and we all know how
that turned out—they took out a bunch of old battleships and then
gave us Pokémon and Hello Kitty in return.
If the state really wants
people to obey these “Speed enforced by airplane” signs they
should think about making them more imposing. They could do this by
putting pictures of the B-2 Stealth Bomber on them—that would
certainly let you know they mean business. Well, either that or
you’d think it was the international symbol of “Government Money
Dump Ahead.”
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Sure
there’s God’s Country, God’s Little Acre, and God’s Big
Mistake (that’s Newark to you), but shouldn’t God get equal
billing to the devil? |
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Another sign I saw recently was in the middle of the Mojave
desert, where they see less rainfall in a year than Gary Coleman has
had sex in his lifetime. Yet there it was, telling you that the road
is “Subject to flooding.” I saw a hospital sign with an arrow
directing people to “Patient Discharge.” Right, like there’s a
line forming to get this week’s 20 gallon ration of used mucous
and pus. I saw a sign at a KFC that announced an “All U Can Eat
Buffet.” Underneath it they advertised “Drive-thru”. Now
that’s going to be one slow moving line. And last week I watched
the end of “Survivor” and the beginning of “Big Brother”,
both of which are signs. Unfortunately they’re signs of the devil.
Speaking of the devil,
it’s amazing how many signs are dedicated to him on the road, and
I don’t just mean Rt. 666 in Utah. On this last trip I stopped at
Devil’s Kitchen in Lassen Volcanic National Park. In the past
I’ve seen Devil’s Punchbowl, Devil’s Elbow, and Devil’s Lake
in Oregon. I’ve seen Devil’s Valley, Devil’s Golf Course,
Devil’s Garden, and Devil’s Cornfield in California. I’ve also
eaten deviled eggs and deviled ham, but I was smart enough not to do
it at any of these places. Hey, I’m not going to push my luck.
It’s interesting that so
many places are named after the devil while so few are named after
God. Sure there’s God’s Country, God’s Little Acre, and
God’s Big Mistake (that’s Newark to you), but shouldn’t God
get equal billing? Wouldn’t it make you feel a whole lot better to
be driving down the road and see signs saying, “God’s Kneecap
– 5 miles” or “God’s Tennis Court, Next Exit”? Even
better, how about “God’s Gouge-Mart™ - Public Bathrooms.”
Now there’s a sign I could get behind.
©2000
Mad Dog Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
These columns appear in better newspapers across the country. Read
them instead of those silly old road signs.
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