Here’s how Connie explains the situation: “I’m selling my house and moving to a new town. I’ve had an outdoor cat for almost five years, and she doesn’t do well indoors. Since it looks like I’ll end up in an apartment for the first year, I’m trying to find a new home for her. I made the mistake of asking a coworker who is passionate about his pets — seriously, he loves them more than people — and I thought he was just having a little fun with me when he bashed me for ‘throwing her away.’ I laughed and just told him to ask around and let me know.”
These notes — the first from on office in California, the second from an office in Arkansas — both seem like they’re following the same not-quite-finished flowchart for acceptable office paper usage.
Really, you’re in for a scolding no matter what. And as our submitter Hannah noticed — in this bizarre exchange from the copy room at a school in Spartanburg, South Carolina — contrition only seems to further incense the office Paper Nazis.
“My 1-year-old likes to play with hair when she’s sleepy,” writes Michelle in Columbia, South Carolina…a habit which apparently didn’t go over so well at day care with the fair-haired Ms. Linda. [Hahahaha RAGE BLACKOUT emoticon!!!!]
“Personally, I think all places should post this sign,” says Molly in Los Angeles.
These days, it appears a lot of cash register-operators agree with Molly (and the fancy shop in Studio City where she buys her cheese).
To wit: exhibit a, from Betsey in Sumter, S.C.
Exhibit b) spotted by Otto at a sandwich shop in Frisco, Colorado
And so on and so forth.
But I’d like to draw your attention to this piece, spotted by Jenna at a Pathmark pharmacy in Bayshore, New York, as a true masterpiece of the genre. With just a few carefully crafted words, it transforms this common sentiment into the ultimate in shame-inducing passive-aggression.
Just in case gas prices aren’t hurting you enough lately, Tim from Madison, Wisconsin brings us this stomach-turning (yet impressively restrained) note from a petrol station somewhere en route to Green Bay.
Meanwhile, Tonya in Oakland passes along a photo taken by a traveler brave/desperate enough to actual enter a gas station restroom somewhere in Utah.
And finally, the kicker, from Jim in Columbia, S.C. — who would’ve guessed that germaphobia and gas-station employment aren’t mutually exclusive?
Writes Jake in Los Angeles: “At home for Christmas (in Greenville, South Carolina) I mentioned in passing that I would ‘try’ to make it home for Easter, which is what most southern refugee children with guilt complexes tell their doting mothers even though both sides know said child has no intention of showing up to hide eggs and eat ham.”
"Same thing happened when I eloped. My boss took it as some sort of personal offense that I didn't let her know in advance because she would have thrown a party. I mean, she still could have afterwards but apparently she didn't want to unless she was on the shortlist of people who knew in advance."