Tag Archives: Sign O’ The Times

Sign O’ The Times

puns

About seven years ago, the little town of Indian Hills, Colo. needed a new sign for its community center.

Nestled in a southeast burb about 23 miles from Denver, community leaders weren’t looking for anything garish; after all, it’s a hamlet of only 1,100 people. But city officials wanted something a little more eye-catching than the tiny sign with nondescript letters to announce weddings, fundraisers and the occasional  bingo night.

They approached Vince Rozmiarek, a stay-at-home dad who had recently joined the community center as a volunteer.  They didn’t give him any requirements for the sign — in fact, they had no money for a new one. They just wanted something a little more noticeable.

What they didn’t know was Rozmiarek’s Walter Mitty-esque dreams of being a comedian, though they should have been clued in by his first sign: “Indian Hills annexed by Morrison slow down.”

Perplexed residents flooded the local police department with calls. Had Indian Hills really been absorbed by Morrison, with a population of only 431? And had the speed limit really been dropped? Was this a speed trap?

“I could not believe how many people were calling the police,” Rozmiarek joked with reporters. “I really had the people at the Sit N Bull bar scared out of their minds. I did that and just decided that got a lot of attention so I’ll start throwing things up there.”

He has ever since. Every few days, he puts up something new. Sometimes he throws up his own jokes, sometimes he takes suggestions. Usually, he puts them into a list he reads to his wife. If she laughs, the joke goes up.

Since then, he’s turned Indian Hills into a social media phenomenon. If you look up Indian Hills on Google, a photo of the sign sits next to the town’s map coordinates on the from page of its Wikipedia listing. Tourists come to have their photos taken in front of it. It has 26,000 followers on Facebook.

To Rozmiarek and all other writers who can write something clever — not caustic —  in a fraction of Twitter’s character limit. Our executive branch could use a few pointers.

And a shout out to contributor Earl Troglin!

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Stop, Yield, Do Not Enter

When I was a stupid kid (long before I blossomed into  a stupid adult), I came across an ad in Boy’s Life magazine I thought was the greatest concept since the rubber dog poop gag: Dial a Joke. Image result for rubber dog poop gag

For merely 59 cents, it read, you could call a phone number and hear a joke. Every day!

What a great invention, I thought. The only failing I could see was that it was too expensive. After all, I figured, how much would it cost to tell a joke?

Leaning on my keen business acumen, (profit had not yet dawned on me),  I decided to come up with an improved iteration. So my best friend Dan and I hand-drew an advertisement for dial-a-joke — along with my parents’ home phone number.

We plastered the ad on every light fixture and telephone pole we could find withing walking distance in our Detroit neighborhood. And it wasn’t long before we began to get responses:

(Ring)
“Why did the teddy bear say no to dessert?”
“Because it was stuffed!”
(Click)

It never occurred to me to say “Hello” or that someone might be calling for something other than my cutting humor.

And so it went. At least for a day, possibly two.

(Ring)
“What did one plate say to the other plate?”
“Dinner is on me!”
(Click)

It wasn’t until pesky adults informed my parents that every time they called our house, a kid was picking up, telling a joke, and hanging up on them.

So long, business plan. Mom marched to my room and told me to get my ass out there and take down every sign we’d taped. That’s the Man for you: always keeping the little guy down.

I forgot the incident until a couple months later. Laying on my bed, probably leafing through another Boy’s Life for invention ideas, I head the phone ring. Then mom yelled at me from downstairs.

“Scawt!” (she has a distinctive Southern accent) she shouted. “It’s that stupid dial-a-joke!”

Always cool under pressure, I walked to the phone, trying to think of a bon mot (suck it, Groundlings).

(Ring)
“What do you get when you cross a vampire with a snowman?”
“Frostbite!”
(Click)

Fortunately, no one called again, sparing me a tanned hide. But I learned a valuable lesson about thinking things through.

Later, I’d learn I was hardly alone in poor planning. And that childhood was hardly the province of short-term thinking. Like these folks:

Whoever decided to install a motion-activated hand sanitizer machine right above a light switch.

Whoever was responsible for purchasing these front doors for the Sliding Door Company.

Whoever put this “now accepting resumes” sign right in front of a garbage can.

Whoever placed this article about murder right above the photos from a pie-eating contest.

Whoever made this rather confusing cookie label.

Whoever decided to put these two signs together.

Whoever made this maze.

Whoever designed this cupholder that somehow cannot hold beverages.

Whoever came up with this logic.

Whoever decided “Don’t blend in” was a good slogan for a camouflage jacket.

Whoever put this ad right in front of the garbage can.

Whoever designed this “TWO” birthday cake topper without looking at it from behind.

Whoever made this sign. Sorry Troy.

Whoever decided that stitching a black palm tree logo onto a pillow was a good idea.

Whoever made this ice cream bar advertisement, apparently unaware how people eat ice cream bars.

Whoever designed this sign for a restaurant called Three Bells.

Whoever decided this was a reasonable place to install a TP dispenser.

Whoever thought making a vinegar bottle identical to a seltzer bottle was a good idea.

 And finally, whoever designed this screwdriver packaging which can only be opened with a screwdriver.