Recently I was running an errand when a sign caught my eye. As I drove closer, the sign persisted in saying what it said. I actually wondered, “Is there a big market for that sort of thing? Do people come in on their lunch hour, or what?”
Last night I was watching the Lost season finale (pretty much the only broadcast television I’ve watched in a month) when I saw a commercial for Breyers ice cream. I swore the package said “Double Chum“. Again with the thinking, “Is there a big market for that sort of thing?”
After I finished being amused, I remembered when I was 18 and spent a summer teaching magic at a performing arts camp outside of Hancock, New York. The only entertainment after the campers went to bed (aside from fucking other staff) was the only bar within walking distance, whose sole reason for existing was us. It was named, simply, SALOON, spelled out on the face of the structure in a Western, wanted-poster-style font:
At any sort of distance, it read SHLOON, which was what everyone called it and inevitably pronounced it after we had had a few anyway.