Barrieland: Well Now That Doesn’t Look Right

Picking up where we left off from Barrieland: Hello, I’d Like To Speak To A Medical Professional (Part 7)

Disclaimer: This is Part 8 in a Series. Please read the Full Disclosure Disclaimer on Part 1 before proceeding.

And then, if you haven’t read them yet, please read the previous posts before continuing to gain full context:

  1. Barrieland: The Complete Story (Part 1)
  2. Barrieland: Moving In (Part 2)
  3. Barrieland: Meet the Neighbours (Part 3)
  4. Barrieland: Ghosts, Ghouls & Other Things (Part 4)
  5. Barrieland: Home Alone (Part 5)
  6. Barrieland: Am I Losing It? (Part 6)
  7. Barrieland: Hello, I’d Like to Speak to a Medical Professional? (Part 7)
  8. Barrieland: Well Now That Doesn’t Look Right (Part 8); You are here.

I messaged Skippy while I was still at the hospital; this was before the encounter with the mall cop. This becomes more relevant later.

When I passed the double doors and found myself now outside the hospital I realized I had no idea where I was or how I might get home from here.

I briefly considered for a second how people escaped CAMH and then found themselves sitting on a plane to China with no one stopping them (check out this story); I imagined they left just the same way I did, by walking straight out the doors.

As I got to the end of what I’ll just call the exterior hospital sidewalk, I stopped and took a look around.

There was another parking lot ahead of me, and a small road separating me from it. To my right, big garage doors. To my left, another small road and then just the hospital wall.

Across from me in between the road and the adjacent parking lot was a bus stop.

I thought for a moment I should just pull out my cellphone and use Google Maps to figure out the best way home, but I was on a bit of a mission now, imaging myself an escaped asylum seeker; plus, there’s usually maps at bus stops, and there was a man sitting in this one.

I walked over.

The first thing I noticed was that there was no labelling at all at this bus stop, no way of knowing which stop it was, and no sign that said to “call this number” for updated bus times like I had been familiar with in Vaughan.

The man inside the bus shelter was a larger very heavy set man, to the point where he had what I can only describe as noticeable breasts and spare tires. His clothing was not very good at concealing this. I thought maybe if he wasn’t simply overweight, he might be transitioning, like he appeared to have a hormone imbalance (it’s a THING, okay? Just ask Colt from 90 Day Fiance).

Yeah, I know, so weird and rude of me to have thoughts like that when I meet strangers.

I call it being observant, thanks though.

He was a black man and he had a headset on that he was talking into. A headset that you don’t normally see these days, like one a call centre agent might use as opposed to like, blue tooth in-ear devices.

I didn’t try to listen to his conversation but he was looking at me in such a way that made me feel like he wasn’t just there talking on the phone and waiting for the bus. Nonetheless, I interrupted him.

Me: Excuse me.

He looked up.

Houston, we’ve made contact with the world outside. Continue transmission.

Me: Do you happen to know when the next bus will be coming by?

Him: Uh, yeah, it usually comes in the next (whatever time, not too long from whatever time it was now).

He continued his conversation on his headset which at this point now seemed like he was looking at me quite oddly and saying words that perhaps had a different intended meaning. He seemed like he was speaking in code.

Me, again: Do you happen to know how much it costs?

He didn’t.

Me, again: And do you know like, which way it goes?

Him, a little annoyed now: It goes toward like (some Barrie area I’m unfamiliar with), where are you heading?

Me: I don’t really know where that is.

At this point I knew I was being a little rude while he had his secret agent conversation so I thanked him and walked back across the road and back to the hospital sidewalk and pulled out my phone.

At the same time as I was about to google how to get home, another ambulance pulled up the road and was driving passed me. As it waited for the garage doors to open up, I noticed that the driver of the ambulance looked incredbily young, almost too young to be driving an ambulance; he seemed particularly small in the drivers seat.

This kid looked like someone I worked with, OsgoodePD’s resident in-house website coder, Adam. Like, the spitting image of him. I had just seen Adam on Zoom video the day before though, and he was supposed to be living in British Columbia, so this was a strange coincidence for sure.

I was so thrown by the way this kid looked that I actually stopped what I was doing on my phone and followed the ambulance as it drove into the garage. I stopped at the doors, not wanting to get trapped inside the hospital again, and noticed that in this garage there was also a tiny computer desk, like one you’d use for podcasting, that had a computer and several screens; a security desk, with no one at the desk.

Probably cause it was supposed to be the same guy watching the doors and surely he couldn’t also handle viewing multiple screens at once.

Source.

When the garage door started closing, and after taking one last look at “Adam” in the ambulance mirrors, I also remembered the woman who was blinking at me inside the hospital wondering what the hell her deal was.

That girl looked familiar too; like, so weirdly familiar to me, but I couldn’t 100% place it; a lot of white people look the same, especially in Barrie. Plus there was the whole, she was blinking erratically at me as if to signal me. Let’s just say, she looked like someone else I either worked with or had known in my high school days. Both are relevant to this part of the story, because I’d see them both again.

So after the garage door was now closed, I walked back to the end of the sidewalk and pulled out my Google maps for real, but it wasn’t long at all before I heard some commotion coming from the far right of me.

What I saw in the distant part of the adjacent parking lot was a white haired man walking away from a group of several people; women and men alike, and something like at least 6 or 7 of them, if I’m remembering correctly.

The man seemed agitated and the people were loudly calling after him, almost as though they were heckling him, forcing him out of wherever they came from.

He was walking quite quickly and what I noticed about the group of people behind him were that they were dressed in a way that was again oddly familiar to me and the way a couple of the men and women looked also struck me as familiar.

The best way I can describe this colourful group of characters is that they seemed to be going after what I’ll call the “Whose Line Is It Anyway Look”. One guy was bald, kinda looked like Colin Mochrie. One guy was tall and had hair, and was wearing a loose fitting bowling-style shirt, kind of like if Brad Sherwood were trying to look like Charlie Sheen in his Two & A Half Men Days, one guy I ascertained to look like a Greg Proops fellow (he had glasses on, that’s the only thing that really sets Proops apart from the other white guys on the show), and one woman looked like the woman who played piano for the show’s many musical improv numbers (I forget her name, sorry lady – she’s very talented though). There was no Wayne Brady look-alike, but of course, this is Barrieland we’re talking about.

Of course all of this was from a distance but when I see things like this I do my best to associate the people I’m looking at with someone more familiar if they don’t have any otherwise discernible features.

As the man made his way further across the parking lot I noticed that he looked a lot like the white haired man that was my literal next door neighbour; he kind of looks like a heavier Jeffrey Epstein (no offence to this dude, not implying anything).

And then I made a snap judgement. With my phone still in hand, I ran across the parking lot and started recording.

I had no idea what was going on but what I did know was a very large group of people (I consider anything over like, 4, large) was following and heckling a man who was very clearly trying to get away from them.

If I’ve learned anything from watching the Black Lives Matter protests over the last year or two (specifically, I was pretty heavily invested in the George Floyd and Breonna Taylor case, and a similar case that occurred here in Canada where a black woman fell to her death from a High Park apartment building after being visited by police; her name is Regis Korchinski-Paquet), I felt like I had some sort of duty to at bare minimum record this encounter from a distance.

I know my rights as a Canadian as they pertain to lawfully recording video like this, so I felt completely comfortable doing so.

Plus, this was a group of white people, and I, a blonde white woman. Pretty safe, compared to the other stuff I had watched.

I recorded two videos. The first one is the one I’m going to post for you here below, when I first started recorded but was also quickly approached by a woman who was trying to get me to stop filming what was happening.

Me, internally: all the more reason to keep filming.

Apologies for the video in video but with all the footage I’ve had to sift through for this blog alone, this was easier to manage; plus, there’s some additional commentary by me as we watch the footage. PiP!

While this woman was bugging me, I hit end record on my video and then picked it up again moments later.

At the time I was dealing with a lot of storage issues on my iPhone, so I did this often, recording videos in shorter spurts. I wish I had the whole thing, but I mention this so that you all know this footage is not in any way edited.

After this encounter above, I stopped filming as I was approached by a uniformed police office who looked a whole lot like Skippy.

Oh, and the cars I try to take down the plates of? They looked like my former coworker(s). The same woman from inside the hospital, Mrs. Blinks A Lot.

The woman who had been trying to get me to stop filming had told the police officer what I was doing, but she stayed back when he approached me.

The officer then tried to tell me that I needed to hand over my phone to him, to which I replied that no I did not, because I know I am allowed to film here.

The officer then tried to tell me I needed to delete the videos and couldn’t post them, to which I replied that no I did not but that I did not intend to post them (true – I would only post a video like this if I heard something on the news or otherwise that implied this man was wrongly accused and arrested). But on that, isn’t it weird that that was one of the first things he said? Like as though he assumed I was someone who regularly posts videos online?

I took a look at Skippy 2’s uniform to see if I could see a body cam but I couldn’t tell if there was one.

The officer then tried to tell me I had no right to film on hospital property, and I told him that I wasn’t on the hospital property since I had been in this adjacent parking lot and near/on the curb by the grass when I filmed.

He told me that it was, and I told him I’d like to see the documentation that says so because often times property like this (sidewalks, parking lots) are city property.

The officer repeated that I couldn’t show the videos and I explained again that I wouldn’t but that I had to record what I saw because, and I said this to him almost verbatim: Do you know how messed up this looked to someone coming out of here? (Gesturing broadly at the seemingly mental institution/hospital behind me).

While this interaction happened I stopped a man walking by in a red tank top and asked him to stand there while I spoke to Skippy 2 – he did (thanks stranger). I wanted a witness.

The officer and I were then basically done this conversation and it wasn’t until much later in the day that I’d notice that the videos which I intended to back-up for safe keeping had disappeared off my phone; and this was something that troubled me.

I knew they had recorded, so where did they go? I knew I wouldn’t have deleted them; again, this encounter seemed a little messed up.

A little confused but at this point annoyed as hell about the way my evening and day had shaped up, so I looked up how far my walk was and then headed over to Tim Hortons before beginning my long trek home. Dakota was surely very hungry by now and I didn’t want to waste any more time at this place.

Thank God I’m faster than Google Maps when I walk.

It was a hot morning and I was still in sweatpants from the day before. I had a coffee and a breakfast sandwich for the road. As I left the Tim Hortons, I took note of another man who looked oddly familiar to me who held his coffee in a similar manner as me (kinda like a beer, holding it by the top almost); this man headed to the right and I headed left.

The walk was uneventful but nothing could really prepare me for when I was about to see when I got home.


Who’s Been Pissing In My Toilet?

I’ll start this part of the story with another video, and please mind my tone, I was so exhausted at this point.

As I’ve mentioned before this was now not an uncommon occurrence at all, but now I was right-pissed off.

So weird! People using my toilet when I’m not home and leaving the toilet seat up. Must’ve been a dude, so rude.

Taking a sec here to pose the question to readers; what would you have done, assuming you’ve read this entire story so far?

It gets even more interesting, if you can believe that.

After I took these videos I went searching for my phone charger which I had recently moved behind my bed frame (like, very recently, and nobody should have known this; it otherwise always sat in my kitchen).

I fed Dakota of course, and changed out of my now disgusting sweats and tried to figure out what to do next.

And as you’ll see from this next text exchange with Skippy, I couldn’t find my charger anywhere.

At this point I had discerned that Skippy is mentally ill and no longer worth speaking to.

I also needed a charger, and quick; My phone was dying and this was truly my only lifeline at this point.

I assumed the people who had entered my apartment while I was at the hospital were either the upstairs tenants or those sketchy Barrie police officers I had encountered recently.

So, while apologizing profusely to Dakota who I don’t take out for walks when it’s too hot like it now was, I went to the nearest store I could find to buy a charger; Koodo Mobile/Telus in the nearby plaza where I shopped for my groceries.

And then this happened:

Mind the quality of this screenshot, which is actually a photo from my phone. Sometimes, when you filter Tweets, not every tweet pops up (that was what I just experienced anyway, so this will have to do).

At this point I completely lost faith in everyone I know, every medic and police officer in Barrie that I’d encountered, except for literally only 2 and I can’t quite recall the date I met them, but I’m going to talk about them soon), and especially my landlord.

This tweet was posted a while after I went to the store of course, because now I was desperately trying to protect myself.

I know tweeting at these types of people might seem like a waste of time, but it is 2021 and this is how people communicate now, so I had a point to prove, and this seemed the safest option for me to speak my mind while letting the public at large know exactly who I was and what I was doing whenever these things happened to me, while I figured out how to get the hell out of Barrie for good.

Team RVH, nor the Barrie Police, nor anyone at all reached out to me during any of my very-many tweets and subsequent e-mails.

I kept on this even after leaving Barrieland. I know, I’m like, so unhinged you guys!

I had to laugh when I heard over the summer that Ontario Premier and disgrace Doug Ford was visiting RVH to congratulate them on the funding they acquired for what I assume to be “jobs well done” – this hospital is a literal joke.

Speaking of literal jokes, here’s Skippy again.

I obviously had not gotten a new phone, I just sure as hell did not want to speak to Skip. As evidence: me not responding, on purpose.

So Who Were Those Other Officers?

As I said above, there were 2 officers I met from Simcoe County/Barrie one day.

Honestly, they scared the hell out of me when they approached my back door very quietly.

My screen door was open while Dakota and I sat inside, and I was at my computer either tweeting or watching Netflix, I don’t recall which, probably a lil’ of both.

I genuinely jumped a little when I noticed them, and then apologized for that for some reason (damn Canadianisms!)

I don’t really remember where this fell in the story, but it was a brief glimmer of hope in an otherwise very hopeless situation.

For starters, the best way I can describe these officers is that 1 was a older officer with white hair, a bit more heavy-set, and the other was a younger guy with light-coloured eyes, maybe in his 30’s at most.

White people.

I don’t recall why they said they were there to see me exactly, but the were friendly enough, although the younger one expressed that he was really tired.

People say this to me a lot, I don’t know why. Doesn’t anybody sleep anymore?

A casual Mike Birbiglia break, just what the sleep witch doctor ordered.

The other officer at one point made an effort to point out that he had drywall on his arm, which I took to mean that they had perhaps just come from upstairs and for whatever reason, needed to tear down some of the drywall.

They seemed to imply something that made me think I would be leaving Barrieland soon, as I was excited by this; I officially hated Barrieland.

They asked me general questions about my apartment, noticing all the instruments and music-related stuff on the walls.

They asked me if I could play a little guitar and I said that I was out of practice (true, I had reduced my playing at this stage out of a bit of fear about the upstairs tenants, and just generally speaking wasn’t exactly in the mood to play and I suspected they didn’t really want to hear me play any, either). Also like, is the really the time or place, sirs?! (It was both; This is where I played).

They noticed my Jimmy Eat World poster on the wall and asked me about my recording equipment in vague ways. I told them I was a big fan of the band and the younger officer said something to the effect of: You know, a lot of people say Fall Out Boy are better than Jimmy Eat World; to which I responded: Oh? You don’t hear that often, actually.

I’m not a huge Fall Out Boy fan, for the record, I really only like their “From Under The Cork Tree” record; but this interaction made me feel better; these officers, or at least this young one, appeared to be reading my Twitter feed.

Fucking lame.

After our brief music chats, I wanted to use this opportunity to point out a few things, you know, just like, while they were here for some reason I still didn’t know or understand.

Like I said, I don’t get many visitors, and I was increasingly annnoyed with the issues I’d noticed and dealt with around my apartment.

I said things like:

  1. “Do you guys know how many ways into this apartment there are?” and they agreed, there were many ways in.
  2. “Do you guys see this electrical panel? Is this safe?”
  3. “Do you guys see how all this dirt comes through the vents? That’s a lot, right?” Yeah, it’s a lot.
  4. “The contract for this apartment is in the furnace room here, and it has some errors”
  5. “Do you guys know why there should be a key in this door leading upstairs?” they explained what Skippy had, it was for fire safety.
  6. “If there was a fire in my bedroom, how would I get my dog out this high window?” – The officer: You wouldn’t.

    I know. Thanks officers.

And so on.

Eventually we all seemed to understand it was time to stop this interaction, although I did basically walk them through my entire apartment, on purpose.

They gave me their names and badge numbers and I noted the young officer had writing like sprawled out big letters; this is also similar to the way my dad writes, some sometimes even I do. Another odd comfort.

I had them write this in my agenda for safe-keeping (I was worried if it was left on a loose sheet of paper, the upstairs tenants/whoever was entering without my consent, would throw out this paper).

And then I told them I wanted to give them my information, too, and I even sprawled out a little SOS: Check on my sister please. I thought she was unwell (really). She had been acting SO strange. She had been to my apartment recently and started having the weirdest conversations with me, about nothing in particular but she seemed to want to just stand and talk to me for a while and kept looking at me weird.

And since she was wearing loose fitting clothing and I had noticed she was getting a little fuller in the tummy area for a couple weeks now (super NOT like my sister who has been the same weight basically since she was in high school), I asked her if she might be pregnant and she responded, “I can’t be pregnant”, and I’m still not sure what she meant by that, “can’t”. All the while she kept glancing at my little Wyze camera in the corner as if it was recording her (it wasn’t on, just plugged in and sitting there).

The young officer handed me the contact information for him and his partner, and after a brief hesitation, I decided I’d hand mine to the older officer.

I did this for accountability; we should all trust each other.

Thanks, sirs.
The ripped out section is where I wrote my note to them in return.

At this point in the story I’m gonna letcha know; this is really all they key/critical information at this point, and the reason why I began writing this saga out for you.

I do still have a couple more Barrie stories, and of course, things take a turn for the worse with Skippy and me over another series of text messages where he gets quite upset with me, and then there was the whole moving myself out of my Barrie apartment while my upstairs tenants were away one day and how that all played out.

So there are still a couple parts of this story to come, but I’m going to take another little break here and I’ll probably pick this back up tomorrow.


If you’ve made it this far and you’re not sure why the hell I’ve been sharing all of this so publicly, I’m not sure I exactly know how to explain it much more thoroughly than I have.

If you suspect there is child abuse occurring, please don’t try to handle it yourself; Reach out to uniformed police officers in whatever way you feel is best for your situation and only when you feel it is safe to do so. There are usually forms on their websites you can fill out, or what I did, after removing myself from the house, I e-mailed as much of a detailed account of the most important details to the e-mail addresses they listed on those websites (I had assumed the form field wouldn’t be long enough for all the stuff I had to say, which was far less than I’ve presented here for you all in this series). I also for good measure e-mailed a couple other places; in total I e-mailed 4 different addresses.

  1. The York Region Police, because I’m based in York Region and this “case” included my concerns about the actions of a former York Region Police Officer (Skippy)
  2. The Barrie Police, because this “case” took place in Barrie, Ontario.
  3. A second York Region Police e-mail which is actually for like, education for police officers or something. The first time was in error, the follow-ups were not; this e-mail gives a bounce back so I knew my e-mails were going out into the ether.
  4. A family connexion place based in Simcoe County, for the child abuse claims specifically.

Again, I did this because I wasn’t sure which unit/department to trust based on my very particular circumstance and was trying to do my due diligence for these kids. This is also why I repeatedly reached out via Twitter to as many of the relevant people as I could, including Barrie Mayor Jeff Lehman.

A word of advice from me: Don’t ever tell the people you suspect are abusing the child of that you might do this. It can end pretty badly, and things get weird fast, especially if they’re on drugs like I suspected the people above me were (I cannot confirm or deny that they did anything more than smoke weed, it was just a feeling based on the other information the boy presented me at random).

And for the love of God don’t ever go to the RVH in Barrie, Ontario. These people have no idea what they’re doing, as far as I am concerned. #SorryNotSorry

Until tomorrow; play it safe folks, and stay away from strangers, or whatever.

Continue reading with Barrieland: The Lost Files (Part 9)

6 thoughts on “Barrieland: Well Now That Doesn’t Look Right

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