KNOX – There are signs of danger everywhere we go these days

MY BUDDY Dirk was downtown last week when he spotted a sign in the window of the HSBC branch on Douglas Street: “Please refrain from wearing masks while in the bank. Thank you.” Atop the message was a grinning jack-o-lantern.

Which makes you think: Somebody did this.

That is, if the bank felt compelled to stick the sign in the window, you just know that someone, somewhere walked into a branch wearing a Halloween mask, then stood perplexed — as clueless as Phil Dunphy — wondering why the tellers were diving under the counter.

I wrote last summer about nonsensical warnings slapped on consumer products, safety warnings that should be so blindingly obvious that we don’t need to hear them: Keep out of the reach of children. Contents may be hot. Not for internal consumption. Don’t stop the lawnmower blade with your hand. I blamed overzealous liability lawyers.

But the bank sign shows there is another category: Things That Shouldn’t Need To Be Said But Do.

Sometimes, the warnings are posted not simply out of an overabundance of caution, but because somebody has actually done something (such as walk into a bank with a mask on) that has made a seemingly unnecessary rule necessary.

Last month, B.C. ran a gun-amnesty program in which people could turn in unwanted firearms to the police. Part way through the campaign the RCMP found it prudent to tweet: “Don’t carry or transport your firearms. We will come get them, free of charge.” In other words, don’t walk into the cop shop waving your guns like Yosemite Sam.

“Who would do that?” I thought. Then I remembered: My dad.

Thirty years ago, coming from a time and place where every second truck drove around with a couple of hunting irons in the rack, he didn’t think twice before marching into the Kamloops RCMP detachment and slapping his .303 deer rifle on the front counter. Couldn’t figure out why they all reacted like a bunch of HSBC tellers. It’s a good thing he was wearing clerical collar.

All this has changed my outlook toward warning signs. I used to laugh at the “Passengers only” stickers on the Bay Centre’s escalators, but now wonder what on earth someone did to make the admonition necessary. Ride a motorcycle? Herd livestock?

Now, when I see the sign at the bottom of the escalator declaring “Caution: Step with care,” I look for the chalk outline marking where the last body fell, then gingerly dismount like a tightrope walker with a two-beer buzz. Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom in our post 9/11 reality.

Ditto for the plaque inside the elevator declaring the limit to be “954 kilograms or 14 passengers.” Given the size of the car (you have been in larger shower stalls) it didn’t seem the weight restrictions would be a problem, but then I started wondering if maybe something terrible happened involving an elevator-stuffing contest and 15 UVic students who — tragically — tipped the scales at a collective 955.

My mind drifted to those product warnings that seemed way too specific to have been conjured from nothing but a lawyer’s imagination. When the rotary tool came with a “This product not intended for use as a dental drill” advisory, I flashed back to Marathon Man. The “do not use while sleeping” on the hair dryer didn’t seem random. Ditto for the “should not be fed to fish” caution on a bottle of dog shampoo. And let’s not even contemplate the “do not use orally after using rectally” that came with the digital thermometer.

Then I began fearing for those who did try to use a beer cooler as a flotation device, or did not wait for the ride to come to a full and complete stop.

Oh, the humanity.

Some suggest warning signs have become so ubiquitous that they free us of all personal responsibility for our choices, fostering the mindset that if we weren’t cautioned, it’s not our fault. Some think we would be better off inserting some Darwinism into the equation, urging people to blindly obey directions that don’t make sense: Run with scissors. Text and drive. Remove safety goggles for comfort. Go ahead and feed it, the black ones don’t bite.

But then, how do you protect the bank clerks from the bozo in the clown mask?

© Copyright Times Colonist