“When my downstairs neighbour first moved in, I thought we would be friends,” says our submitter in Montreal. “We go to the same school, we’re around the same age, and we both love pets. (I have a cat and a dog, she has four cats.)” And yes, she says, “Every day — after 10 a.m., before 8 p.m. — I vacuum my house. She can have fun with all her cat-hair dust bunnies — I’ll stick to my cleaning schedule, thanks!”

Like our submitter in Montreal, I’ll admit that, as the owner of a dog who sheds quite a bit, I also vacuum pretty much every day. So if that makes me a “FILTHY DIRTBAG,” I guess I prefer that to becoming like “Dirty Lady #2.”

related: I’m dirty and I love it

Our submitter in Ohio came into work recently to find this disturbing notice on the door of the women’s restroom. Even more disturbing? This apparently wasn’t the first time this type of incident has occurred.

Our submitter says a group of coworkers spend all morning trying to figure out the logistics of how this shit went down. “The stall is really not that big,” she says, “and in order to miss the toilet, one would have to be standing, practically leaning on the wall, rotated 90 degrees from the usual use of a toilet…and then somehow not see what happened or subsequently decide not to clean it up.”

Sadly, I think Drew of Toothpaste for Dinner has a point:

related: THE MAD BOMBER: Never Forget!

Michael says this chaotic jumble of parenthetical-underlined-CAPSLOCK has been up since he started working at this California sushi restaurant, much to his amusement.

Adds Michael: “I don’t care how much a customer tips me, I am not going to satisfy all of their needs.” (So, no rice dicks, then?)

Honestly, it’s that last missing parenthesis that really gets me. Just close it up! Do it now!

related: Under no circumstances shall any chef make a Rice Dick.

This indignant note nearly made Mike [sic] with laughter when he saw it posted in the lobby of his apartment building in Surrey, B.C.

(Oh, those Canadians — so hilarious! Even when they’re not trying to be!)

related: A note from Dirty Lady #2

“As far as I know,” says Meagan in Ohio, “my boss, an early-40s white lady named Sandee, is a native English speaker.” I made sure to double-check with Meaghan on this, because, well — just read the thing.

As Meagan points out, her boss “does not seem to understand that the pet peeve is the thing you shouldn’t do…or that ‘peteve’ is not a thing…or really, anything. How could you hit ‘print’ on this?”

Except to underline the fact that Meagan’s place of employment is a winery — one where open bottles of wine seem have to have a tendency to be strewn about willy-nilly — I must say I have no idea.

related: My pet peeve

I don’t really want to know what “cigarette ashes” is supposed to mean in this context…

…but hey, look what I found on the Internets!

related: Your “Brown Friends”

Edie in Bellevue, Washington wasn’t too happy with the neighbor’s cat using her lawn as its personal toilet, so she finally asked the cat’s owner if she’d please clean it up. “She did,” Edie says, “but only after explaining that the cat poops on everyone’s lawn and no one else minds.” (After asking around the neighborhood, Edie found this to be only half-true.)

Little did they know that cat’s crap was practically worth its weight in friggin’ GOLD!!! One can only imagine the reactions of Edie and her similarly ungrateful neighbors when they finished reading the photocopied letter taped to their front doors. (First place? For three years running?? What fools we’ve all been!!!)

related: Don’t feed the cat (or the trolls)

extra credit: The Radiolab episode about Toxoplasma and crazy cat ladies

When Sal spotted this notice at an athletic clothing store in San Diego, he says that while he couldn’t quite picture how a tissue would get the job done in this situation — not to mention how this policy came to be —  “I figured it was best not to ask questions.”

Meanwhile, when I first read this sign — from a club in Vancouver — my first thought was, “Well, that seems like a reasonable enough request.” Our submitter, Cherisse, begs to differ. “Sadly, there is no bathroom backstage,” she explains, ” wnd when a girl’s gotta go, sometimes the other end of the club is a long ways a way.” She adds: “If it wasn’t for the used paper towels being left outside, no one ever would have known.”

So… like Sal, I’m gonna say it’s probably best not to ask too many questions about this one.

related: “Who leaves their panties in the bathroom at work?  Who does that?”

I think this has got to be my new favorite (unintentional) twist on the old “your mother doesn’t work here” trope. So congratulations, overbearing office manager! The three hours of company time you spent searching for just the right clip art — not to mention your charmingly cavalier disregard for spell-check — did not go unappreciated!

P.S. I promise, from now on,  I will be sure to always clean and scrub the delicious Italian rice balls so graciously provided by the Phantom Mammas infiltrating our kitchen.

related: Yo momma doesn’t work here (or here, or here, or here)