A busy working mom in Austin, Texas got this little love note on her BlackBerry from her sixteen-year-old son. (Michael is his friend, by the way,  not the craft store.)

In the end, our submitter adds, he didn’t take the bus after all. Total bluff!

related: friends don’t lie 2 friends

Our anonymous submitter was mildly amused when he noticed this little hypothetical how-to pop up in his Facebook feed. But the real kicker, he realized, is that the one person tagged in the note happens to be (ouch) the notewriter’s current roommate.

Adds our submitter: “To my surprise, the girl never commented on it, but I’m sure she got the message — she was called out!”

related: Some dating advice

Writes Desiree: “This is a note at the express (stamps-only counter) at a very busy post office in Washington, D.C.. They are apparently!! very!! uptight!! like everyone else in D.C. (myself included)!!”

Meanwhile!! in Florida…

And! in Los Angeles!

related: This is why your postal worker is disgruntled

“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

Tara in Vancouver organized a meetup for “progressive, radical and lefty librarians” at a place called Subeez Cafe. It wasn’t until afterwards — when she took a look at the contact sheet she’d passed around — that she realized at least one attendee was less-than-pleased with her choice of venue.

“They didn’t complain to me directly, they didn’t even write it on the front of the paper,” seethes Tara. “Were they hoping for a bucket of hummus at a squat?”

related: a matter of taste

Though the issue might not be top of mind for sophisticated and urbane readership of this website, let this serve as your warning: Should you find yourself in, say, Fayetteville, Arkansas (like Melissa, a California expat currently attending the U of A) you’ll soon realize how important it is to lay down the law with regard to proper cud disposal.

Of course, when you live as far north as Baltimore and notice that your boss has taken to spitting chaw in your trash can, the situation becomes that much more dire.

related: evidently, yes

Our anonymous submitter in Cleveland found this note taped to the office paper shredder. “My first thought was, ‘Wow, this person has issues deeper than the full shredder.’”

related: Especially Deborah

Spotted in the basement of a New Jersey church where people play bingo all the time. Adds submitter Yamis: “I guess we know the demographics of the crowd.”

related: More like hardly working