Signing on

The phone numbers posted on signs at intersections and freeway ramps advertise good news about your finances, life span or appearance. Their crude hand-lettering is honest, quaintly needy, a throwback to a time when travelers on horseback followed trail markers often embellished with offers of monetary rewards for turning in fugitives, or news of miracle potions available in the next town.

“WIPE OUT BAD CREDIT NOW!” says a sign stapled to a street lamp at the northwest corner of Pico Boulevard and La Brea Avenue. “1-800-GET-CASH.” Turn right on Pico and one sign duct-taped to the freeway overpass at Fairfax Avenue blares: “HUMAN GROWTH HORMONE!” South on Robertson Boulevard at the onramp for the 10 comes another toll-free phone call suggestion: “THIGH CREAM--REMOVE CELLULITE NOW!”

At home one day I dialed the 800 number. “I’ll be right over,” said the perky gal. Great, I said. Twenty minutes later she pulled up in an old Datsun. She was in her 30s, more or less, sunny and slight, with a voice just high-pitched enough to hint of an edge, of what happens when money is earned by peddling unguents that promise to stop time. She handed off a tube, relay-style, grabbed my 10 bucks and left. “Gotta make another drop,” she called. “Have a nice day.” I did, oddly comforted by this strange connection in the desert sands of the disconnect, finding satisfaction in the very convenience of L.A., delighting in that rare occurrence--a moment completed.