When I walk to the supermarket, I usually take the “long way”, i.e. the scenic Experimental Farm pathway through the forest. It ends in a quiet residential cul-de-sac street. Straight up is the supermarket and Merivale Road, a ten-minute walk away.
This is the exact route I took when I went grocery shopping last Saturday morning. When I arrived on Clyde Avenue, I noticed one of the buildings at the end of the street had put up elaborate Halloween decorations, complete with a yellow “do not cross” police tape around the house and the trees in the front yard.
I almost took a picture, but I was listening to a podcast and didn’t feel like fumbling with my phone.
The following day, reading my Tweeter feed, a familiar street name caught my eye: “Clyde Street”.
— Juliette Giannesini (@Xiaozhuli) October 24, 2016
Ottawa homicide detectives are investigating after a 26-year-old man was stabbed to death early Saturday morning.
Police found Joshua Briere outside of his Clyde Avenue apartment around 3 a.m.
He was suffering from several stab wounds to his torso and paramedics tried in vain to keep him alive. Briere was later pronounced dead at hospital. It is the city’s 16th homicide.
On Saturday police could be seen combing for evidence, and videotaping bloodstains and clothing on the street under a steady rain.
(excerpt from The Ottawa Sun, October 24)
Oh. So it was not a Halloween prop but a real crime scene. Ooops.
I will add this moment to my long list of #facepalm #innocentmoments, among which you will find:
Doing a load of laundry with bleach because I clearly remembered that word had something to do with “cleaning”—I had looked it up when I was a teen because it’s the name of one of Nirvana’s albums.
On 9/11, insisting the World Trade Centre was “just fine” because I could see it from my office building in Hong Kong—not realizing the radio was talking about the other WTC, miles away, in New York City.
Going to see Men with Brooms, expecting a feminist movie—nope, it was about curling, as I finally noticed about halfway through it.
Believing for years that “beaver tails” were actual beaver tails and not a local pastry made of dough and 100% beaver free.
Losing my panties at the doctor’s office and walking out without it (what else was I supposed to do??)
Being an hour early for an entire day because we hadn’t realized that Brazil hadn’t switched to winter time yet.