I’m probably more than a little biased when it comes to determining whether or not Alan in Seattle — the writer of the note below and self-appointed Lord of the Laundry Room — is, in fact, an ass.

For one, even though I know the scent of fresh laundry is actually thanks to evil chemical compounds and not “mountain breeze” or “spring rain,” I still kinda love it. Of course, I don’t live in an apartment directly above a laundry room. Instead, I live in an apartment surrounded by chain smokers. And while I hardly enjoy the smell of cigarettes, I’ve managed to deal without threatening to confiscate my neighbors’ Marlboros and replace them with bottles of bubble solution. (I also keep my windows shut.)

What say you, troublemakers? Is Alan wrong? Or is he just an asshole?

related: You’re not wrong, Walter

Compared to the notes we usually see about food theft, Steven seems like a pretty reasonable guy. But isn’t “respectful stealing” still something of an oxymoron?

recent: That Outback bread was…

I asked our submitter if she might be able to snap another photo of this memo/notice — one without the ghostly reflection of the man in the wifebeater — but alas, she says, it has since been taken down and replaced with a new memo offering a $500 reward for information leading to the culprit still vandalizing the elevator.

And yet, now that I’ve spent a little time with this image (in all of its beautiful absurdity), I’ve come to feel that it just wouldn’t feel quite complete without wifebeater man. Because this, my friends, is a work of art.

related: Thx Sandra

The proper care of outdoor cats has become one of those issues — like tipping, or whether the toilet paper roll should hang over or under — that will no doubt incite flame wars until the end of time. That said, Lindsay in Oregon was still a bit surprised when this note appeared on her apartment building’s bulletin board, given that “FOUND” posters referencing the same collar-less cat had been posted on said bulletin board for weeks on end.

After experiencing similar problems with the neighbors (despite the fact that his cat already wears tags with his owner’s phone number on them) Elisa’s friend in Seattle had another tag made in hopes of preventing future trips to “kitty jail” — or at least to piss of the neighbors taking his cat there.

related: Cat fight!

“My office just got a new style of paper which has caused quite the stir,” says our submitter in Seattle. “It’s made from forested trees, or something like that, so obviously we can’t wait to use it.”

related: Nothing fosters community like shared network printers!

“Perhaps I was a bit too particular about what I wanted when I ordered my salad at lunch,” admits Daniel in Seattle. “I found this when I pulled it out of my bag back at the office.”

And from the Athens, Ohio Dept. of Disgruntled Baristas…

related: Have it your way, jerk

In one of my clearest memories of first grade, I distinctly remember my teacher telling us, on the first day of school, that the bathroom in the back of the classroom was only for emergencies. For non-emergencies, we’d have to wait until lunchtime. In my six-year-old mind, however, “emergency” meant only one thing: “throwing up.”  And so, when I had to go, I held it. And held it. Until…well, I wasn’t holding it anymore.

That’s right: It actually took wetting my pants for me to learn that the word “emergency” means very different things to different people — a concept some people apparently still haven’t figured out.

It’s unclear, for example, what might constitute a “citrus emergency” at this Pleasanton, California optometrist’s office. (Perhaps a masochistic mandarin peeling itself?)

You might think people would be a little more precise in their language on a military base. At Arizona’s Fort Huachuca, you’d only be about half right.

At Gustavo’s new office building in Seattle, it only took about a week — and about a bazillion false alarms— before someone decided a little clarification was necessary. (Sorta sounds like something you’d expect from a classroom of first-graders, no?)

Meanwhile, Andrew in Cirencester, England only noticed this sign after pushing open one of his office’s alarmed fire doors (triggering a sudden and unforeseen occurrence — i.e., ear-shattering noise).

related: Gee, thanks for the clarification

Jane in Boston says this note appeared on Tomio’s bedroom door, at cat’s-eye level. “Given that I’m pretty sure cats can’t read, it’s the ultimate passive-aggressive sentiment,” Jane says, “but a cat shitting on your bed is pretty passive aggressive, too. What a tangled web we weave.”

Meanwhile, a submitter in Cornwall, England spotted this note (again, at pet’s-eye level) on the front door of a house. “It was unclear what the dog had done, how the notewriter expected the dog to read this, or how ‘Diane’ was filming the dog,” our submitter says. “There was no sign of a camera.”

And yet, it’s this commandment —posted by a neighbor of Marissa in San Francisco — that tickles me the most.

UPDATE: A bonus note (via Anthonio in Seattle), from…Dirt.

related: Excuse me, sir? I think you’ve dropped something.