Once upon a time there was a young woman named Little White Riding hood who went to meet her lovely Grandma for her birthday. So she hopped in her minivan on a weekday afternoon and took a trip from her cozy suburban cemented fortress, through town carrying a basket of goodies. Well. Grandma lived far into the deep, deep Toronto landscape, where it was very, very scary.
Where people actually walked on the sidewalks and hung from street posts and from sloped foreheads their eyes menacingly stared. But Little White Riding hood was not afraid, for the most evil, most vengeful creature that dwelled in the thicket of downtown Toronto was not be seen, and she was glad. “I must get out of here by 4:00 as to avoid it.” She told herself.
So she bravely parked on Parliament St. and locked her vehicle twice to ensure the security features were enabled before heading over to the Regent Park Community Clinic to meet grandma. At the conclusion of the meeting, Little White Riding Hood proudly took her Grandmother home before beginning the long trek back West. As she got out of the car with her basket, Grandma warned, “Now you know how to avoid the you-know-what. Don’t take the highway – tek the side road and go down past di big tourist house (Casa Loma) and you will be fine. Alright mi dear.”
“Yes Grandma,” Little White said politely and waves of flying kisses ensued all the way down the street.
She glanced at the clock – and to her surprise it was 4:30! It was too late! Now poor Little White Riding Hood was doomed to face the monstrosity she was trying to avoid. For there deep through the streets of Toronto it was waiting for her; hungry, panting, perilous. TRAFFIC. Traffic, the million eyed monster was ten times greater in size than she had ever heard described.
“Oh no!” she cried aloud!
She looked behind her in panic – looking for a way out. One way sign – a one way sign there…no turning..no parking.. no turning ‘buses’ excepted… it was all an absolute terror. Traffic had her right where it wanted her and began to hunt her down.
Oh, how it chased and mocked her – peaking out of every corner lot and side street saying, ‘Where do you think you are going little girl? Home, from seeing grandma?’ it guffawed.
‘Leave me alone!’ Little White cried, ‘You’re not real. You are a figment of my imagination – my worst nightmare – I will get home in an hour’. Traffic laughed a belly aching laugh – oh how it growled as it trailed her down Queen street and up Yonge. It pounced on her in the side streets surrounding U of T. It screeched its rubber footings down Dupont and up Ossington breathing its toxic breath into her lungs as she sat trapped. It huffed and puffed and hurled twisted steel into her path.
It gave chase until … Annette – where the trees and buildings parted and gave way to … Jane Street. “Hurrah!” she cried – burying her face in the steering wheel. One and a half hours later she was actually able to drive – to put her foot on the gas for more than 10 seconds without hitting the brake and in another half hour later she was safe and sound at home. Little White Riding Hood never drove downtown again. She took the public transit when they were least likely to strike, and she lived happily ever after.
The end.
