One evening upon my return from work by way of the
subway system I passed by an area of
construction walled off by some temporary planks, prominently guarded by a
red warning sign...
due to: Monsters!
(scrawled in messy black marker)
Evidently the show of
humour wasn't palatable to
transit authorities, for the
sign was gone
the next day. Often the
maintainance drones are so lazy they don't fill in the white box provided to let commuters know just what the
danger might be, so some travelling
comedian or
gallant character probably did the service for them.
One thing I do know is that the people that oversee our transit service here in
Toronto are so damn
uptight about anything that might give the impression that the system is
unsafe. That whole attitude creates an atmosphere of
repression, where
graffiti and
tagging - far from being tolerated or overlooked - call for an immediate removal of the
vandalized train or
streetcar for a thorough cleaning, at great expense. Of course, it's a stretch to guess that a similar
rationale may have been behind removing the rather
innocuous sign, but consider if you will a theory of the reasoning behind this political climate.
Toronto is
the multicultural city... with such a
wide array of
superstitions packaged in fleshy sacks making their way through the
underground network, no doubt one would encounter a
soul who would have taken the
benign sign at face value. Regardless, whoever took it down was a real
tight-ass.
I was
ticked simply coz I didn't have a chance to record the sign with a
photograph. Call it a
quirk, but I harbour a strong
interest (perhaps even a
fascination) with signage. Signs will be found just about wherever human beings have been; they are a
universal mark of humanity. Everywhere you go, you will find signs. Many are subject to multiple interpretation, often deliberately. The language utilised often has to be custom-tailored to suit the
diversity of the population. Often one is led to think of possibilities likely never dreamed of by the authors of the sign text, while at times the
double entendres are only too obvious.
Thusly I laugh at the sign that sez "CAPITAL RADIATORS: the only place to take a leak!" or the one that goes "All Passengers - Tripping Hazard". I chortle at the
incongruity of an "Adult Depot" right next to "Somporn
Thai Cuisine", or a "
Tarot ESP Psychic" sign at a booth in front of a major department store. "Cirque du Poulet" in
Kensington Market and the accompanying mural elicit a smile, while the stark red and white ad proclaiming "
Forget you ever saw this" earns a worried glance.
I take pictures of signs and
graffiti. I stash them somewhere
obscure online. I have seldom found someone with an interest to share them with, but occasionally the
absurd has a use in online correspondence. Alongside
bridges,
tunnels, and big buildings, signs are one of those peculiar things I have a fondness for. Frankly, I'd enjoy my time on transit more if the textual space weren't so restricted to whatever makes money. A "
NO SMOKING" banner with "
crack" written next to it, or the "
Press for Assistance" bar with the last seven letters blacked out would help to amuse the likes of me. That warning of
danger from, of all things,
MONSTERS!, sure set my imagination to work, wondering just what sort of beast might
lurk deep within the tunnels.
Giant rats and radioactive scorpions? A
furry modern-day hybrid of mole and troll? The bastard offspring of
Mothra and
Ann Coulter?
Not that I mind it so much, but to be able to do without music and books as a way of making the daily trip interesting would be swell. Items of interest on the way into work would seriously alleviate the dehumanizing
malaise that can set in after years of taking the same exact route five days a week, fifty some-odd weeks a year. Why,
shazbot! The
TTC has even closed down the
Spadina Movator and has it slated for removal. Are we going to have to resort to
actually talking to our fellow riders to amuse ourselves?