If the temperature is 0, the time/temp display at the bank in my hometown, and on many others, I'm sure, has been known to read -0. This is irksome to all of us armchair mathematicians who know that 0 can be neither positive nor negative; it's simply nothing, that perfect point in between. You'd think the bankers who hosted the display would have known, too, being professional number crunchers, but perhaps that's just how the sign dealt with 0 and they didn't have a choice.
This is the same time/temp marquee that broadcast personalized messages for me and for my sister when we graduated from the high school in town (and were handed our diplomas by our very own button-bursting Dad, who was president of the school board at the time). Birthday gibes for aging locals scrolled past end-to-end with news of the latest interest rates; births, deaths and weddings were noted in kind. You could learn half of what was going on in town just by driving past the bank.
Now, Mother tells me, that era is at an end. The bank has taken down the big sign and doesn't appear to be planning to replace it. This is sad for me. The bank sign was a touchstone for me throughout my growing-up years, and seeing my name in lights up there a few times was a big deal. Since I moved away, it has been a reassuring landmark to visit every time I'm back in town. Yet another aspect of the once-familiar downtown area is changing, and I find myself slipping into usedtospeak. You know: The bakery used to be on that corner; Dad's drugstore used to be right there, then later over there; That real estate office used to be a clothing store; Remember the welder whose shop used to be beside the old gas station — welding torches next door to all those gas fumes? — and the blind chiropractor who used to diagnose back problems by tapping on the bottoms of people's shoes? There didn't used to be a bridge over the river right there, so I never remember to drive on the new bridge. There's the building where I did a summer stint as gopher in a law office, the same building that had once housed a retirement home where little girls gave difficult tap dance recitals on slick tile floors, the building that for quite some time was renowned for having the only elevator in town and may still. We used to get to ride the elevator after the recitals. And . . .
What are the big used-tos where you come from?