 |
| This notice caught my attention to the extent that I had to read it three times. |
Proof in point is a new notice posted at one of the clubs I swim at. To put it into perspective, the club happens to be Shanghai's answer to LA fitness – a seven or eight story complex buzzing with activity early in the morning until late in the evening. Hundreds of fitness fanatics and neophytes alike cross the threshold everyday in hopes of alleviating the effects of smoking, smog and chronic cubicle syndrome.
I had just finished a lunch hour swim and ducked into one of the main bathrooms to grab a Q-tip and tissue to expunge the last of the chlorinated water. As I reached for the swab I noticed a new sign that I'd never seen before in an advisory to patrons.
It certainly commanded attention given its size, bold faced and densely composed typography (in any language). Needless to say it seemed an important message. As I began to read, I wondered if it had anything to do with the pool recently and unexpectedly being closed. As I completed my curious read, I was stunned (while thinking that mild dyslexia had impeded my read). I read the notice again with the perfect movie state of mind suspending disbelief.
No, they couldn't mean ... really? No?
Upon the third read it was in fact perfectly clear – Chinglish. Fairly recently, there has been a series of books written and a now defunct Broadway play devoted to the phenomena. The incorrect use of english (by english standards) being perfectly acceptable by Chinese in the context of everyday Chinese life. Fun, I know. And while it can and should be written off to the inequities and losses in translation, somehow it still just doesn't seem that a notice as such can be written off so easily without regard for the possible source of the catalyst precipitating it.
Immediately the Mad Magazine vision of 4 decades past popped into my head. A 70's feminist Rapunzel (tasteless as only Mad Magazine could be - if you choose not to deal with such pubescent humor please skip to the next paragraph) with hair cascading down 12 stories from her armpits allowing her lover to unwittingly ascend the tower. Could someone suffering Tonsurephobia have aimed the hair dyer at an overgrown armpit? On second thought however, the notice is very clear, the hairdryer is only to be used to dry hair (since the description of hair is left generic it must be the reader's application of common sense that will, ah-hum, dictate the action). Specificity as such eliminates the possibility of my pubescent recollection from being the impetus (at least to a reasonable doubt).
No, this was something different.
Since the notice commands a respect for others it must have been an act of some offense to commonly held Confucian practice.
Was it simply an ingenious adaptation of a mundane device in lieu of a forgotten towel? (I think not since towels are dispensed at the welcome desk.)
Or, was it an act prompted by a sophomoric dare?
Even a 3 year-old knows that hair dryers get hot enough to leave a scar on the unrestrained curiously prodding finger.
I suspect in lieu of serious TORT reform (or even TORT acknowledgement) here in PRC the sign is intended to prevent serious injury in the future based upon an inane act that must have been committed on the premises.
Today I venture south in hopes of gaining access to Shanghai Oriental Sports Center site of the 2011 FINA World Championships. I'm hoping hair dryers are not standard equipment.
© Karl Shaffer 2013
