In Pembroke, Ontario, certain parking spots now display a new insignia.
The areas outside the Pembroke OPP station at 77 International Dr. that display the handshake symbol are designed to serve as community safety zones for online transactions.
If you purchase something online and need to meet someone in person to pay for it or pick it up, there are locations you may use to guarantee everyone’s safety, according to the Upper Ottawa Valley OPP.
According to an OPP news release, “Project Safe Trade aims to establish a ‘community safety zone’ at an OPP detachment parking lot to facilitate online property transactions.” “The idea behind establishing a ‘community safety zone’ is to shift online transactions from private parking lots, homes, and other locations to public spaces.”
There is no need for appointments; the secure trading locations will be open at all times.
“The busy holiday season is approaching, making this the perfect time for the local launch of Project Safe Trade.” According to Steph Neufeld, commander of the Upper Ottawa Valley OPP detachment, “online property transactions are on the rise, and the UOV OPP is pleased to be initiating a community safety initiative aimed at decreasing offences related to online marketplace transactions.” “Project Safe Trade and other collaborative methods can lessen victimization and harm in our communities.”
Const. Mike Mahon told CTV News that the areas also offer a means of assisting in preventing the potential of becoming a victim of fraud.
“If it seems too good to be true, it probably is,” goes the saying. Particularly if you’re asking that they meet here and they’re really hesitant, then you should be concerned,” he stated.
According to the OPP, police will not function as witnesses, mediators, or providers of documents in relation to transactions. However, if an officer is called, they will come and only get involved if the transaction turns into a criminal case
I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
The quietude of Elm Street, once a symphony of birdsong and gentle laughter, had been shattered. The arrival of the new neighbors, the Morlocks, had thrown the idyllic tranquility of their little community into chaos.
Initially, I had tried to be welcoming. A plate of freshly baked cookies, a warm smile, a friendly “Welcome to the neighborhood!” But my overture had been met with a chilling silence. The woman who answered the door, pale and gaunt, had regarded me with a suspicion that bordered on paranoia. “Ew, it smells awful,” she had muttered, her eyes darting nervously around as if I were some sort of disease.
Then came the fountain. A monstrosity of wrought iron and gargoyles, it stood imposingly in their yard, a constant, jarring presence. The incessant gurgling and splashing, day and night, had become the soundtrack to our lives. Sleep became elusive, replaced by the monotonous drone of the water.
The neighborhood, once a haven of peace and camaraderie, was now a battleground. Tempers flared. Arguments erupted at the weekly community meetings. Finally, a vote was taken – a unanimous decision to request the removal of the fountain.
And so, the unenviable task of filing the official complaint fell to me. I, the self-proclaimed peacemaker, the neighborhood’s unofficial ambassador of goodwill, was now the bearer of bad tidings.
That evening, as I returned home, a small, ominous package lay on my doorstep. No return address. A shiver ran down my spine.
Inside, a single sheet of paper, scrawled with menacing handwriting:
“I KNOW YOUR SECRET. YOU WILL BE POLITE TO YOUR NEW NEIGHBORS, OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.”
Fear, cold and clammy, gripped me. Who was it? The Morlocks? Or someone else, someone watching, someone waiting for the right moment to strike?
The following days were a blur of paranoia and unease. I checked every window and door lock multiple times a night. I slept with the light on, the faintest sound sending shivers down my spine. My once peaceful neighborhood had transformed into a place of fear and suspicion.
The police, after much persuasion, agreed to investigate. They questioned the Morlocks, of course, but they denied any involvement. The woman, her face gaunt and drawn, maintained her innocence, claiming she was simply trying to enjoy her own property.
The investigation yielded nothing. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no concrete evidence. The threat remained, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic community.
I started carrying a small can of pepper spray, my hand instinctively reaching for it at every rustle of leaves, every unfamiliar sound. I avoided going out alone at night, my days filled with a constant sense of unease.
The incident had changed me. The once friendly, outgoing neighbor was now withdrawn, suspicious, constantly scanning the shadows for signs of danger. The peace and tranquility of Elm Street, shattered by the arrival of the Morlocks, had been replaced by a chilling sense of fear and uncertainty.
And the fountain, that monstrous, discordant symbol of their arrival, continued to spew its icy water, a constant reminder of the darkness that had seeped into the heart of their once idyllic community.I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
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