After 55 years, the North Shore Music Theatre in Beverly, Mass. is closing its doors, Terrance writes, “and I wanted to preserve the rich history of notes and art that have accumulated over the years.”

First up: this artistic series from the intern lounge. (Sidenote: intern lounge?!)

related: I’ll tell you what’s classy, though

Our anonymous submitter reports that a certain less-than-collegial colleague had the gall to dash off this note while the perfume-wearer in question was standing at the photocopier less than five feet away. And, our submitter adds: “She did not attempt at all to disguise her handwriting.”

related: Fight or flight

“Let me preface this by saying that the ladies’ room at work is quite clean,” writes Angie in Stamford, Connecticut. “I’m not saying it’s where I eat my lunch, but it’s a very satisfactory restroom.”

It was something of a surprise, then, Angie says, when this sign appeared on each of the walls and stall doors.

In particular, Angie would like to draw your attention to the lower left-hand portion of the sign. “There are several lessons to be learned here,” she says, “perhaps most importantly that one should spray one’s corpses prior to placing them in the ladies’ room.”

related: When you can’t blame the dog

In terms of the appropriate sympathetic nervous system response, an e-mail subject line like “big favor” is kinda the modern cubicle-dweller’s equivalent of “Saber-tooth tiger outside cave!”

(Note: this e-mail, our Seattle-area submitter says, is from the very same person who brought us this.)

related: Perhaps it’s time for a little group therapy?

Given the highly intellectual discussions this site’s commenters have become known for, it seems safe to assume that the question, “How are we to judge poetry?”  is one that you, dear reader, have no doubt pondered on many an occasion, along with other more academic concerns such as the proper resting state of the toilet lid.

Well, as the late Philip Larkin once said, “I think a poet should be judged by what he does with his subjects, not by what his subjects are.” With that in mind, which of these poets would you judge “less likely to make you totally vom”?

Is it this one, from a university campus in Toronto?

…or is it this one, spotted by Kacey at the YMCA in the college town of Champaign, Illinois?

related:  A limerick

extra credit: The Poet of Dirty Words: Reconsidering Philip Larkin [slate.com]

Our anonymous submitter spotted these notes in the shared kitchen of a “professional building” — one our submitter says is full of shrinks. Perhaps one of them could deduce whether “i.e. me” fits the DSM’s criteria for a diagnosis…or whether she’s just having a little trouble with her Latin.

related: eau dear
extra credit: “food odors at work” [chowhound.com]

Spotted by Maureen in Cincinnati, Ohio…

(Actually, just kidding — it’s from a conference center in Dayton. But how great would that be?)

related: Blame it on Coke

This oh-so-subtle note was posted by Mary’s former boss, “a pathetic professor in a backwater institution” where 90% of the graduate students happened to be Korean, Japanese, or Chinese.

“Nevermind that he doused himself with great lashings of Brut in an attempt to jazz up the bald-up-top-ponytail-in-back look he had going on,” Mary says. “There were a lot of things I could have said to him on a post-it, but I decided to be the big kid and quit.” Luckily for us, she swiped this note off the breakroom microwave first.

Interestingly, it seems fish-hating office workers elsewhere also share an affinity for clip art.

related: No smelly foods