Faydra in Gainesville, Florida lives in an apartment complex she describes as “a step above dorm living” — 85 females total, all of them coming and going at all hours. Faydra’s next-door neighbors kicked things off (with the most frightening clip art extravaganza ever) and things devolved from there. In chronological order:
Writes Simon in Richmond, Virginia: “I was combing through my Facebook newsfeed and came across this note posted by someone on my friend list. I have no idea who the note is referring to, but I think it’s kind of interesting that he’s putting out his dirty laundry for all to see.”
Writes our anonymous submitter from Canada: “I lived with these girls for a year, but about six to eight months in things started to get a little strange.”
If our submitter had any doubts about how her roommates felt about her, however, the to-do lists that appeared on the fridge the weekend she was moving out of her basement room cleared things right up. (The verdict? Way harsh, Tai!)
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.
Cate in Columbus went out of town for a night, and sadly, her absence was enough to provoke her betta fish (Pope Shaivo the Third) to jump out of his bowl and end it all. Meanwhile,Cate says her roommates, apparently unwise to the suicidal tendencies of bettas, “thought I had placed it on my desk and just left it there!”
Nothing could have prepared Lauren in Oakland for the passive-aggressive avalanche that awaited her the other day at her new apartment. She calls the experience of finding the notes totally surreal. “It keeps playing back in slow motion in my mind, from the second I saw the first one hanging over the threshold to my absolute horror and delight at finding an eleventh one hours later on the bathroom door.” Here’s the theme park version!
“I’m not sure anything in particular prompted it,” Lauren says, “but I live, apparently, in some kind of alternate dimension where full-grown adults believe in chore-wheels, so it could’ve been anything — but certainly not ELEVEN things to correspond with the number of found notes. Then again, I’m not a timebomb waiting to explode, so how would I know?”