Writes Derek from Ohio: “I found this on an anthropological blog I follow and thought it would fit great on your site.” I agree, Derek, I agree!

related: No candy go away!

extra credit: Do I have to give candy to poor kids? [slate.com]

At least with this job, you know exactly what kind of misery you’re signing up for if you decide to “enquire within.” (If only all bosses let their true characters shine through so obviously at this stage of the game.)

related: My sadistic dungeon-master won’t let me call in sick

“I guess I’m a bad parker,” says Renee in San Antonio — but really, how bad does a parking job have to be to inspire this kind of blind rage? Especially when the scene of the crime is the parking lot outside a big box store like Best Buy, not some precious residential block.

P.S. If you’re thinking “PMS bad,” next time I escape from the kitchen, I might have to give you a barefoot kick to the crotch.

related: When parking gets political

…and then it turns out Ang’s friend is like, Heidi Klum, and she’s with standing there with her big growling bodyguard, and the Misogyny Factory boys are all like, “Ruh-roh! If only we’d been drinking that shitty beer that makes us act all ‘smooth!’” Or something.

Adds our submitter from East Lansing, Michigan: “I don’t know where Ang’s friend parked originally, but because there was rope attached to the car’s bumper, it looks like ‘The Factory’ moved it.”

related: Why don’t you go park your car in Harvard Yard?

One day, Mike in Seattle pulled into his section of the parking garage, where there were dozens of open spaces that never fill up. “Rather than doing a 12-point turn to get right next to a concrete column, I just pulled in and called it good enough. Apparently I had been taking liberties with Mother Earth that day or something, as I was later blessed with this gem tucked under my wiper blade.”

Trix says her Dad spotted this variation on the same theme while strolling through Portland, Oregon — “a well-known haven for parking-space-hugging liberals.”

And of course, the irrational assumptions go both ways. Amber in Whitinsville, Mass. — who happens to be gainfully employed, thankyouverymuch — found this under her windshield wiper one day.

Lara in Arlington, Virginia bore the brunt of an even more retrograde brand of passive-aggressive paternalism when she committed the sin of parking a smidge over the yellow line.

related: Herbie Goes to Washington

Imma cut you off before you start with the “that’s not passive-aggressive” bidness. It’s “WTF Friday,” and anything goes!

First up: Linda spotted this spray-painted notice in front of a dumpster on the streets of San Francisco. “I have no idea what breast cancer trash they are trying to fend off, or what ‘breast cancer trash’ is supposed to mean,” she says.

Meanwhile, Susan in Silverdale, Washington did a doubletake when she drove past this sign on her way home one day. (She took a picture, but did not attempt to make good on the offer.)

Austin was similarly disarmed upon spotting this notice outside a shop in Dublin, Ireland.

And longtime troublemaker Wade had a good chuckle when spotted this sign outside a child care center (run by the Addams’ Family?) in Washington, D.C.

related: professionally done by Asians

K, so Court in Michigan met this guy out at a bar. He seemed harmless enough, but Court knew right he wasn’t her type. Still, she didn’t have the heart to give him a flat-out “no” when he asked for her number. (She couldn’t give him a fake one, either, ’cause he the did the “dial his number into the phone and call” thing.)

Says Court: “The first time he called, I talked to him and decided right then I definitely wasn’t interested.” By the end of the conversation, she figured he’d gotten the message…but then he kept calling. And then, texting. When she didn’t respond, Court says, “I assumed he’d take the hint…but I’m not too sure he did.” Um, yeah, you could say that.

related: Not a match

It was a “killer busy” week at the office, so Gord in Ontario admits that he and his ad-business coworkers left the place in a certain state of disarray. (Such is the wont of “creative professionals.”) Unfortunately, the boss chose that weekend to pop in to give some people an impromptu tour. On Monday, these adorable little thought balloons were posted all around the office.

The boss never mentioned the incident again. But rationalizing, it seems, that a sleeping dog is just a dog waiting to be kicked, Gord and his coworkers turned the notes into a T-shirt.

related: Is this what a post-post-feminist looks like?