PassiveAggressiveNotes.com » clip art catastrophe

The unfinished story of the unhappy door

Kerry — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 00:12:54 +0000

The missing last line of this story: “Unfortunately, it just made people slam the door more loudly out of spite.”

(Upon publication, this story was roundly slammed by reviewers.)

Beware of Barking Mad Cat Lovers!

Kerry — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 12:00:41 +0000

While on her first trip to Bergen, Norway, Den from London was strolling a residential side street when she came across across this note taped to a large window where, just inside, several cats were dozing the day away.

The cutesy clip art is a nice touch, Den says, but she was particularly tickled by the idea of this person rounding up cat-lovers from across the Internet to bark manically at THE PATHETIC MAN WHO DO NOT EVEN HAVE BALLS the next time he strolls by with his dog.

related: My cat-shit crazy neighbor

The needy little dishwasher

Kerry — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 12:00:22 +0000

Dear poor, neglected automatic dishwasher: have you considered therapy? (Adds Ben in London: “God help us if somebody pisses off the kettle.”)

Meanwhile, in Texas…

related: When dishwashers speak

It’s not just God who’s watching you…

Kerry — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 03:17:41 +0000

While admiring a “very nice” church in Edinburgh, James was only slightly discomfited by this notice about the measures being taken to ensure his comfort.

related: He died for your clip art

How does a 135° angle sound like a couch?

Kerry — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 03:58:05 +0000

If I worked at Steve‘s office, I would definitely be rallying the troops to launch a (non) silent 90° protest of round-the-clock water-glass-filling…and then place “out of order” signs on all the restrooms. (It would be lame, but not as lame as this sign.)

This is not a thing, people! I refuse to acknowledge this is a thing!

related: Is this a thing now?

Do as I say, not as I do

Kerry — Tue, 03 May 2011 02:43:08 +0000

First up: a peek inside the recently renovated dressing rooms at London’s swank Royal Albert Hall. Adds our submitter: “You can just feel the glamour, can’t you?”

Meanwhile, in the breakroom at Ashley’s office, even snarky responses get their own frames. Now that’s classy.

If you don’t read this, the terrorists win! Do you hate America?

Kerry — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 19:54:39 +0000

Did you hear? Jack Bauer is back again! He’s now working unofficially as the head of the Cubicle Counter Terrorism Unit. And apparently, he gets his best propaganda ideas right here at PAN!

(Thanks to Lisa in Utah, Tyler in Texas, Michael in Ohio and Sleepy Engineer in Virginia for their submissions!)

Clip art: unsafe at any speed

Kerry — Tue, 26 Oct 2010 22:36:07 +0000

Mosef in Houston says this is just one of the workplace safety team’s many delightfully fear-based messages that decorate his office.

Meanwhile, our submitter in Athens, Georgia says that copies of this one particular sign appeared one day out of nowhere, taped to practically every available surface. (I’m guessing the thinking behind it was something like, “Well, if a picture’s worth a thousand words, a thousand pictures are…oooh, a piggy bank!”)

related: He died for your clip art.

extra credit: Instructional Instructions

In case of emergency…well, you’re on your own.

Kerry — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 02:38:52 +0000

In one of my clearest memories of first grade, I distinctly remember my teacher telling us, on the first day of school, that the bathroom in the back of the classroom was only for emergencies. For non-emergencies, we’d have to wait until lunchtime. In my six-year-old mind, however, “emergency” meant only one thing: “throwing up.” And so, when I had to go, I held it. And held it. Until…well, I wasn’t holding it anymore.

That’s right: It actually took wetting my pants for me to learn that the word “emergency” means very different things to different people — a concept some people apparently still haven’t figured out.

It’s unclear, for example, what might constitute a “citrus emergency” at this Pleasanton, California optometrist’s office. (Perhaps a masochistic mandarin peeling itself?)

You might think people would be a little more precise in their language on a military base. At Arizona’s Fort Huachuca, you’d only be about half right.

At Gustavo’s new office building in Seattle, it only took about a week — and about a bazillion false alarms— before someone decided a little clarification was necessary. (Sorta sounds like something you’d expect from a classroom of first-graders, no?)

Meanwhile, Andrew in Cirencester, England only noticed this sign after pushing open one of his office’s alarmed fire doors (triggering a sudden and unforeseen occurrence — i.e., ear-shattering noise).

Your mother doesn’t work here…so security will have to escort her out.

Kerry — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 04:07:19 +0000

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.

From the Department of Inappropriate Clip Art

Kerry — Fri, 28 May 2010 05:30:16 +0000

Just in time for WTF? Friday…

Exhibit a) Posted on the front door of Ruth‘s apartment complex just outside Washington, D.C.

Exhibit b) From a parole liaison at the New Jersey Department of Corrections:

Exhibit c) From a vacation rental home in Maine, as spotted by Mike from Philadelphia, who adds, “I’m allergic to type set in Comic Sans.”

related: Screenbeans are never okay

Did you wash your hands? Well, did ya, punk?

Kerry — Fri, 14 May 2010 00:15:02 +0000

Every day, you watch them, in horror: Those vile, germ-laden, nether-region-wiping creatures who don’t wash their hands after using the toilet. Confronting the offenders directly wouldn’t work, because, well, you’re passive-aggressive, and that’s just not how you roll. So what to do next?

Well, you could dazzle them with some accusatory statistics…

…or attempt to appeal to the altruists in the audience.

And maybe try to lure in the sports fans with the promise of some fun trivia!

If they see through that little scheme, you could try patronizing your patrons outright…

…or just straight-up treat them like four-year-olds. (“Did you wash your hands?” “Yes.” “DID YOU WASH YOUR HANDS?” “I said yes!!!”)

Perhaps even a dash of reverse psychology?

Of course, those less-straightforward techniques just might just backfire on you. In that case, you could play the bully with THE CLIP ART THAT MUST BE STOPPED.

Or, if your clip-art collection is a bit larger…release the dragon!

Not scary enough? Maybe it’s time to bust out the F word.

Or the even scarier F-word: FECAL-ORAL.

And if that still doesn’t work? Well, I guess you’ll just have to flounce away, invest in some latex gloves, and vow to hold it ’til you get home.

(Thanks to Jen in Houston, Jenni in Spokane, Marley in Pittsburgh, Lindsey in Memphis, Laura in Richmond, and the many anonymous submitters for their contributions.)

extra credit: “On Washing Hands,” by Atul Gawande

Passive-Aggressive Kitchen-Sink Poetry

Kerry — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 05:01:35 +0000

So, which of these cutesy little rhymes is least likely to make you stab yourself in the eye?

Exhibit a) from an office break room in Atlanta, Georgia?

Exhibit b) from a college dorm suite in Winston-Salem, North Carolina?

Or — smiley-face-free! — exhibit c) from a share house full of frat boys in Los Angeles?

Still there? If so, you probably need a palate-cleanser after all those cringe-worthy couplets, so I’ll leave you with this delicate haiku from an office in Washington, D.C.

related: Scatological Poetry Slam

The sausage fest of horrors

Kerry — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 23:20:14 +0000

Which of these urinal notices do you find most troubling?

This one, from a London nightclub?

This one, from a construction site in New York City?

This one, from a campground in Russellville, Arkansas?

Or this one, from an office in Redmond, Washington?

P.S. “Sausage dump” wasn’t a euphemism.

(Thanks to Dylan, Paul, David and Lucy for submitting!)

related: Why I hate Miami