Writes Michael in Chicago: “Apparently, some of our neighbors had a problem with us being naked in our apartment.” Without knowing any other details of this situation, I’d have to say:

a) “Be more private with yourself” is a phrase I am going to try to work into future conversations whenever possible.

b) Michael, while I 100% support your right to bare all in your own home…curtains still might be a worthwhile investment.

Meanwhile, Scott in Seattle found this note taped to the front door of his apartment building. “Needless to say,” Scott adds, the next time he saw the large bald man from the third floor in the building’s laundry room, “it was a touch awkward.”

related: get your “nozzle” off my “hose”

extra credit: man arrested for being naked in his own home [WTOP news]

Writes Katrina in Illinois: “I work in furniture, and due to the economy/the real estate crash, the company has been struggling and a lot of employees have been making a lot less money.  This little morale booster was found on the break room bulletin board — right beside the letter notifying us that the company was no longer matching 401(k) contributions.”

related: “That’s what she said”

This note — spotted by Erik in a break room at Northwestern‘s Medill School of Journalism — takes me back to my days as a bright-eyed young reporter cheerfully slaving away at my college daily, where the grizzled old alumni “mentors” working at the Times or the Globe always seemed to have the same advice:  if we were smart, we’d get the hell out of journalism before it was too late. (“Ha ha,” we’d laugh, awkwardly.) It’s somehow reassuring to know that kids today (“kids today!”) are still blithely ignoring their elders to pursue a degree that just might be the most unnecessary in higher education.

But seriously now. At this point, you’re like, “What is this biotch rambling on about? Doesn’t she know I don’t read text longer than 140 characters at a time? Show me the picture, dammit!” And that, young j-schoolers, is the topic of next week’s lecture.

related: the silverware segregationist

extra credit: the twitter explosion [american journalism review]

“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

Jen says this liquor store in Chicago’s Lincoln Square is completely plastered with notes like these, but — vexingly enough — the guy at the register was such a hawk she was only able to snap a few photos. Happily, I’d say Jen scored a hat trick for insolence with these three.

related: Free markets, free people, free papers

I’d say this whiteboard notice — from a student at Northwestern University in Evanston, illinois — is neck-and-neck with this for “most unnecessary and inappropriate analogy ever.”

‘Plex, by the way, refers to (in the words of our anonymous submitter, the note’s recipient) a Northwestern residence hall, Foster Walker Complex, “that’s full of disinterested seniors and minorities.”

(Sigh)

Change is on the way?

related: Just be glad you don’t know what’s in the coffee

“As a college student used to her freedom, I’m sometimes gone for days at a time when I’m home for the summer,” explains Jesse from Gurnee, Illinois, admitting that during this time, her betta fish, Freddie Mercury, tends to go unfed.

“My 14-year old-sister has shown him mercy a a few times,” Jesse says, and admirably, “she’s never asked for thanks.” But Freddie, it seems, has had just about enough of this neglect.

related: Through a glass bowl, darkly
extra credit: “You can call me the manatee!” [youtube]

Our anonymous submitter sneakily snapped a photo of the whiteboard at a friend’s house in Urbana, Illinois.

related: Oh sweetie, I love it when you talk dirty!