13 posts tagged “signage”
Vox was dead again for the last couple of days. Daisy has been very good and has replied to my messages, though it’s a bit annoying that no one else at Six Apart has. It still seems this problem is unique to me, but it can’t be if I can’t compose messages on Vox on any one of three different computers. (I’ll be trying from another office shortly, too, and we are both on the same ISP.)
Complaining about Vox interrupts the flow of these posts a bit, especially when I just wanted to share these Wellington images with you. Christchurch seemed to have better weather when I visited.
At the Desire party on Wednesday was my old acquaintance, Max:
As you can see, like me, Max is Asian.He’s from eastern Russia, near the border with China. So how is he not Asian?
Which means, of course, Max should be able to queue up under this sign at the National Bank, just as I had tried to:
I was meeting friends at room 604 of the Bolton Hotel yesterday. And as I do with computers, I followed the instructions.
You would think that since computer instructions are never correct, I should know better. Because whomever did the signage to the floor—which I, incidentally, followed, since it was directly across from the doors of the elevator—is an imbecile.
Odd things from the last few weeks, taken on the old phone.
First up: if you need to understand what penguins say, someone has seen fit to compile a dictionary (note the space between Penguin and English acting as a divide):
Finally, Get Funk’d, a hair salon that came up with a blackboard message I photographed last year, has another one. I am told these are from Ollie, one of its employees and the salon’s second-in-command: You can’t see the car clearly in my shot, but Ollie has drawn the Pontiac Trans Am from the original Knight Rider series and not the Ford Mustang Shelby.
This is a sign of the times: a real estate agency now “wants girls”. I imagine this is a diversification on the part of Tommy’s Real Estate into nudie bars and strip clubs. Call Mark Hamilton, who must be getting the babes in. (Photo by my friend and colleague at Lucire, Tanya Sooksombatisatian.)
I’m not sure if you can do this sign in the US, but in New Zealand, you can with our sense of humour: it’s at the New Orleans bar (formerly Paris), on Lambton Quay, Wellington. Two of the staff are Frenchmen so we chatted more about the fact that Orléans is a French town. You can even do a President Bush impersonation and say, ‘I see the reconstruction’s fine, and you don’t need my help,’ and not get nasty glances.
However, I did not know what to do with this one at the National Bank on Manners Street, Wellington: The first time I was not sure about this. I thought it was some modern form of segregation. I went to the regular queue with them white and brown folk. When I got to the teller, I asked him if the bank expected Kazakhs, Iranians, Indians and Asiatic Russians to go with the ‘Asian Banking’ sign. He was a bit humourless and it went over his head. But he did tell me that the staff were multilingual or spoke different dialects as I noted I did not speak Mandarin. I was welcome to go there next time.
The second time I put this to the test. I figured that if the National Bank wanted all Asians—if you are one of the group descended from or related to the 3·7 billion from Asia—to turn right and not left, and segregate us, I would go along with it. Plus the teller from the time before said the staff were multilingual. I went to ask if any of the Chinese staff (I did not see any Japanese, Kazakhs, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis or any others) if they spoke Cantonese. They did not. Therefore, I went to queue up with the regular folk.
The Mandarin-speaking woman working there did come to ask if she could help me. I said I wanted a cheque cashed. She said I was in the right queue. I remarked that I was just following the signs about segregation because I didn’t want to go all Rosa Parks-on-the-bus on them. (And the last time whites pulled this stunt with Chinese we got so pissed off that we brought down the Ching Dynasty in 1911, so bringing down a single bank is not too hard.)
This time, my teller was (probably locally born) Chinese and could appreciate the nuances. She, like me, thought it was inappropriate for Chinese to be grouped with 3·7 billion people on the Asian continent. And we had very little in common with, say, the fictional Borat, who is from Asia. Or Emperor Hirohito. Or Gandhi. Or my friend Merrill Fernando who sells tea on TV.
She said I was the first customer to have interpreted the sign as requesting Asians go to a separate part of the bank but she would raise it with the manager. I said that even the Chinese writing said ‘Asian banking’. But I still do not know what the sign means: clearly all ‘Asians’ cannot be assisted because there are only Mandarin-speaking staff in that section of the bank. Clearly there, the services are specialized and regular banking is still with the regular tellers. This was deceptive advertising.
I am so glad I have closed the majority of our ANZ–National–Post Office Savings Bank–Countrywide–whatever-else-was-merged accounts. I don’t understand this lack of logic and it demonstrates a massive absence of cultural awareness. (As a non-customer it is a great thing to have a laugh about and I hope they will leave it up as a relic!)
So they want Asians in another part of the bank but they don’t. And they can’t serve any Asians anyway unless you speak Mandarin, which is about 28 per cent of all Asians, but it’s pretty sweeping and arrogant to say all Asians should go that way. I do not know of any Chinese who would not find this sign either insulting, humorous, or stupid, which are probably three qualities that the National Bank wishes to convey. And I bet every other Asian, say folks from Tajikistan or Azerbaijan or Vietnam or India, are wondering why they can’t get served in that section or why their languages aren’t included on the sign or by the Chinese staff.
The sign should read, in Chinese, ‘Specialized services for Mandarin-speaking customers’ which, believe it or not, would fit into the space they have anyway, and is probably what the bank means.
Congratulations, National Bank, you’re stupid in two languages. Which is better than being stupid in three: