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The Winnipeg Police Service major crimes unit is investigating what some have labelled offensive and hateful posters on full-display at a Winnipeg home.

One of the people irked by the display is Gracie Garrett. She’s has lived on Ashburn Street in Winnipeg’s Minto neighbourhood for almost ten years. She’s never felt unsafe in the neighbourhood before, but now, a set of posters plastered on a nearby house are making her feel uneasy.

The five signs, posted facing the street prominently on a front window, contain a slur, refer to Nazis as “heroes” and call Muslims, Christians and other groups “evil.”

Learning of the signs Friday, Garrett said she’ll be reporting the posters to police, as she worries they incite and promote violence.

A morning in the life …

My very first lesson does not start when I walk into that lecture hall, oh no — it starts long before. It begins when I walk to my car, check the estimated arrival time to the University of Manitoba and hope that Winnipeg traffic agrees with it.

A drive that appears completely manageable changes almost immediately when I’m greeted by a tsunami of orange pylons and a line of cars that appears to go on forever. Traffic moves by the inch, lanes magically disappear and the detour I took yesterday now has a detour of its own. These factors make me do a calculation that I have become all too familiar with. How late can I arrive and still find parking, run to my class across campus and get to class with enough time left to make it worth it?

I have grown used to people saying, “Why not just leave earlier?” I do. But when I’m already leaving for my 8:30 a.m. class at 7 a.m., there’s only so much I can do. This drive that some would think is relaxing is one that feels like an assignment that I didn’t know I had to complete and is due at 8:30 a.m.

DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: I ran into an old boyfriend I used to curl on a team with, and we went for drinks. We’ve been almost eight years apart, and I couldn’t remember why we broke up, as we always had such a great time together.

It wasn’t until the second date — this time on a weekend — that it came back to me, with a jolt. Pee-yew! I remembered he doesn’t use deodorant on weekends. Why? He enjoys his own body odour. I recalled that a bit too late, and it was just as awful as ever! I went home early.

Tonight, he called and I refused him another date. I said, “Think back. You remember why we broke up?” Then he said, “Oh yeah, you hated my no-deodorant weekend policy. Well, guess what? Some women don’t mind!” I said I really doubted that, and that ended the conversation. Miss L., wouldn’t any women find stinky underarms offensive?

— Sensitive Nose, Fort Richmond