Small Business Signs
Here we have a happy auto body man painting a Volkswagen beetle—that once-ubiquitous Mexican car. This sign gains gravitas from the Bauhaus display font. But I dunno. The sideways baseball hat, the stylish oversize overalls, the wildly flailing spray gun pointed at the windshield—all muddies the message. I'm not convinced this place is gonna give me that shiny new car I'm hoping for.
Raf on the other hand, has an ernest, nerdy look. You just know that this guy really understands alternators, even dreams about them. You're in good hands with Rafles.
The sign below clearly was lettered either by the proprietor or his 12-year-old daughter. He's a shoe repairman. We SSL (Spanish as a Second Language) people may have some difficulty interpreting his sign. Is on a Spanish word? What does reparaci mean?
Ran out of room on the first line. Had to break the word. Syllabification? What's that?
The sign reminds me of the old cartoon...
I notice that beauty salons often incorporate unflattering images of clients.
I'm certain that Abril's clients don't want to look like the woman in her sign.
And what is this unisex deal?
I understand that cosmetologists like the idea of doubling their potential market. Up north, men have patronized beauty salons for years, although I have always felt uncomfortable in them. But it's hard to imagine some macho caballero strutting into one of these places.
Laura's Beauty Salon offers "modern cuts," one of which the female figure presumably is modeling. Her hair has been formed into a handle, sort of like a coffee mug, I guess to provide the boyfriend with a convenient grip.
This electrical supply place has a mascot made out of... electricity. He looks a little devilish; appropriate for a country where electric company customers often install diablitos on their power meters. (Diablitos are tiny magnets that slow the meter down, so consumption readings will be lower.)
The mascot probably was inspired by the American character, Reddy Kilowatt. Reddy has a more wholesome appearance, don't you think? Doesn't have such a sinister edge.
I'm accustomed to professionals of the healing arts presenting themselves in a conservative, sober way. Not so, Dr. Verduzco.
He entices clients with a "happy tooth" figure, seated on a comfy chair, faced with a tool no more intimidating than a dental mirror. "Sure. Come on in! It won't hurt." Reminds me of the old "Painless Dentist" advertisements.
Finally we come to a sign promoting one of those split personality businesses you find all over Mexico.
Is it a hotel? Is it a car wash? How are the sheets washed? How are the cars dried? How do people come up with concepts like this?
Once, a clerk in a small store handed me a package of aspirins that he had pulled off the shelf from between some cans of motor oil and a pile of industrial-grade brassieres. I was bemused until I realized that I can effectively do the same thing at any Wal-Mart.
Jean and I quit touring the United States and sold our motorhome when we discovered that any one place looked pretty much like the next. The franchising of America has brought us the dull predictability of an Arby's at every offramp. The way I see it, if you're gonna put a sign between me and the scenery, at least make it unique.