Five pictures, not quite 1,000 words

...and one immensely important poll question at the end.

A little over a century ago, the phrase “a picture is worth a thousand words” entered into our language. If you’re like me and apt to go down rabbit holes, you can look up its origins here.

Today, I bring you five photos that I’ve recently taken with my smartphone, accompanied by fewer than 1,000 words.

Photo #1

I’m always proofreading and copy-editing stuff I encounter, along highways, in store windows and so forth. Last week, I was especially amused by this one just a few blocks from my home. I posted it on my Facebook page with this remark: “And I was really hankering for some wopens, too.”

Some friends in the peanut gallery jumped in with their own quips, including:

“If you go there, pick up some tosu as well.”

And:

“There's a critical shortage of wopens now due to Trump's tariffs. Apparently there has been a run on wopens before the tariffs were to kick in.”

Speaking of tariffs—and there’s been a whole heck of a lot of tariff talk lately—that brings us to this photo from last night after a Costco excursion.

Photo #2

That’s over 31 pounds of pasta sauce¹, factoring in the weight of the glass and plastic that protects the spicy red stuff. And like any bulk buy, it represents a long-term investment. You never know when those pasta sauce prices will go soaring, right?

Of course, it’s essential to check the expiration date of perishable products to ensure you have enough time to consume them. For this battalion of Rao’s marinara sauce, the seemingly far-off date is December 6, 2027.

If we survive till that point, it’ll be nearly three-quarters through the present Presidential Administration That Shall Not Be Named. And the Baron family will be at least three-quarters through that sauce.

Photo #3

This one, in the bathroom of a local grocery store, takes the classic path of introducing a well-known phrase, then offering a surprising twist.

Sure enough, no employee has ever been available when I’ve gone to use the lavatory, so I’ve had to make that extra effort and wash my own hands.

Photo #4

This was how a young man greeted me and other motorists at a busy intersection in Oak Park on Tuesday morning. From a distance and at first glance, this could seem menacing. But this guy came in peace—he’s apparently got experience on a drill team, capable of expertly tossing this show rifle high in the air and catching it with his hands, not his face.

This feat distinguishes him from a panhandler and into the realm of Quirky and Slightly Risky Public Entertainer. (Does anyone else see how this could rapidly escalate through a misinterpretation or misunderstanding of what's in his possession and how he’s looking to use it?)

Like a panhandler, he concluded his routine with a stroll past my car and others behind me in the hopes of netting a few bucks. He may well rake in good dough, but it wasn’t thanks to me on this day: I kept my focus on willing the light to turn green as quickly as possible.

Photo #5

First, let’s acknowledge the elephant in the bathroom: this is my second photo from inside a public bathroom. (I really, truly don’t have a bevy of other bathroom pix on my smartphone.)

Now, onto the topic at hand: for years, these gizmos have vexed me. I get ’em, sort of, but mostly I really, really don’t get ’em.

I mean, sure: Germs transmitted by door handles and public bathrooms are a top contender for Place You Least Want to Touch Anything That Others Have Touched. So, in that respect, I understand the theory behind a “sanitary door opener.”

But what I also calculate is the risk side of this risk/reward equation. What’s the risk of someone barreling through from the other side of this door just as I’m sliding my arm into the awkwardly placed contraption? What will be worse—my concussion or separated shoulder?

With these thoughts swirling in my mind, rather than using the supposed aid, every time I take an extra sidestep and open the door as cautiously as possible.

My bet is that a teensy-weensy percentage of people even contemplate using this and other devices like it. (Those foot ones are equally risky in my book, daring someone to slide their foot into the thingy just as someone breezes in and busts up their ankle.)

Perhaps I’ve struck a chord with this last one. Have I buried the lede as you’ve been waiting for this opportunity to unburden yourself of all your own thoughts on this issue?

Wherever you may stand—or sidestep, as I do—if you’ve stuck with me this far, that suggests you are a committed reader who will gladly take this poll below².

1. For the Fact-Check Police: I weighed one of these six two-packs on our kitchen scale and it checked in at 84.06 ounces. Multiply that by six and you get 504.36 ounces, which equates to about 31.5 pounds.

2. No, this is not a Jedi mind trick. Or is it?