This note, from Michelle in Denver, displays the remarkable lengths that some people will go to avoid confrontation.

“This bright-green gem wasn’t the only priceless thing visible,” Michelle says. “On the cubicle wall closest to the refrigerators was a camera…and it was actually connected to the computer and recording a live feed. This is why you don’t steal from the fridge when you work for a multimedia corporation!”

related: ABP on the V8

This is one of those notes I’ve spent far too long puzzling over. The frustratingly random capitalization, the misuse of/missing punctuation, the center justification, and of course, THE BOX. WHY THE BOX?

Sir/ma’am, I will gladly supply you with as many Baby Ruths as you can stuff down your gullet if you can reconstruct the thought process that led to this note.

related: and yet…the pink flowers?

This all-staff e-mail is like a fetus-sized version of one of my favorite self-righteous masterpieces. (How this one got buried in my inbox for so long, I have no idea.)

It comes to us courtesy of Jennifer in Chapel Hill, N.C., who notes: “In this instance, ‘local users,’ is everyone in our corporate HQ — including the president, vice presidents, directors, legal counsel, etc., who don’t typically utilize the refrigerator in the staff break room.”

related: It must have been a pretty big bite

extra credit: STFU, Parents

Spotted by our anonymous (and uninvolved) submitter on the office bulletin board at a “super mega corp” in Columbus, Ohio…where apparently a vegan “safe space” is, um, kind of in order (sob).

related: P.S. bacon is life

extra credit: Passive-aggressive vegan grocery cashier, a day in the life [McSweeneys]

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Writes Jim in Colorado: “When I attempt to cook, I typically use way too many pots, pans and utensils and sometimes tend to skip instructions. (I actually made hard-boiled eggs and set the smoke detectors off.) Anyway, the other night I made cheeseburger pie and forgot to precook the meat. I woke up the next morning and found this on the refrigerator.” </laugh track> Oh, dad!

related: No reading required, kids

FOOD DAD IS ALLOWED TO COOK: Hot dogs, hamburgers, grilled cheese, nuggets, pre-bagged meals, fast food, BBQ or grill, Mac + cheese, Deli stuff. FOOD DAD IS NOT ALLOWED TO COOK: Anything that requires more than 3 ingredients

Writes our anonymous submitter from San Francisco: “I bought $50 worth of groceries at Trader Joe’s, my boyfriend made an awesome pizza out of [some of] them, and as we were watching a movie and eating some, my uber-bachelor roommate yelled through the door and asked if he could get a slice. The man has rice and soy protein on his shelf in the pantry, for almost two years has been replacing leftovers in the fridge with “IOUs,” and rarely makes anything worth sharing — not that we would impose. Sean said ‘yeah,’ I countered with ‘meh,’ and after 30 minutes of door-slamming, he left this note on the table — along with a sticker on our pizza that said ‘meh.’”

related: get your own

Writes Kerry in Brooklyn: “I just moved into a new apartment, and they don’t have secured outside parking for bikes. My place is NYC-sized, so naturally I decided to lock one of my bikes to the banister right outside my door. Apparently that’s a big no-no in the building.”

Meanwhile, Melanie in Newport, Rhode Island spotted this on the lawn of the Salvation Army in her neighborhood, adding “I, for one, certainly applaud whomever had the baguettes to do such a thing.”

related: The first thing I did when I woke up

“One morning last summer,” writes Stephanie in Illinois, “my brother and I arrived at the company where we worked to find these notes posted to the candy vending machine. (Mind you, it was 8:45 a.m.) Apparently, the man who fills the vending machines — a.k.a ‘Mr. Candyman’ — had failed to restock the machine for a week, and the ladies of the office had had enough.”

I mean, really. we’re talking about a serious breach of the social contract here, people!

Stephanie and I were both particularly tickled by the the “gas prices” note at top right. (“What does that even mean?” she wonders.)

Meanwhile, Lisa in Nashville spotted this note posted on the vending machine in the studio arts building at Vanderbilt University. “There had been many previous notes asking (nicely) for more Twizzlers,” Lisa says, but as desperation set in, at least one distraught staff member decided to get lyrical on Candyman’s ass.

related: The Pepsi Challenge

Juan in Brampton, Ontario wasn’t persuasive enough to convince his girlfriend, Kat, to skip work and go to her own surprise party. His friends were…not so happy.

Meanwhile, Sam’s best friend baked this for her husband after he re-arranged the living room early in the morning without telling her, resulting in some seriously bruised shins. “What’s even meaner,” Sam says? “She can’t cook. The cake probably tastes, well…bitter.”

Still hungry for more? Sharrin in San Diego, Sam in Daytona Beach, and of course, Cakewrecks have documented plenty more examples of sugar-coated hostility floating around the interwebs.

And then there’s my personal favorite (again, straight out of the michael scott playbook):

related: “I don’t need a birthday cake,” I said.
extra credit: passive aggressive cakes [cakewrecks.blogspot.com]

Writes Michael in St. Louis: “I’ve tried my best to figure out the logic behind writing this note and then putting the salami back in the fridge, rather than simply throwing it away…” but so far, no luck. In any case, he says, “I’m glad that it’s been saved it for posterity.”

related: Did you ever consider the possibility that…oh, never mind.