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Powerless prince treks home to North York

More than 50 years from now, when I’m teaching my grandchildren about Canadian history, I imagine it would go something like this:
"Once upon a sunny Thursday afternoon, in the magical city of Toronto, a certain kind, handsome, chivalrous, charming prince took a stroll down Bay Street with his friend, on the way to the other kind, handsome prince’s enchanted highrise condominium. Looking for something to do, they walked into a video store and rented a movie to take with them. However, at this time a wicked witch happened to be zooming around the skies on her new Nimbus 2000. Being the wicked witch she was, she dropped her wand down the chimney of a power plant. Within seconds, the power grid of the Eastern seaboard had collapsed. Oh well, no movie tonight.

Now, all highrise condominiums in Toronto have gadgets called elevators, which were built to save princes the trouble of climbing stairs. With the electricity out, our two heroic princes took the staircase and obtained more exercise that night than they had gotten in the last two years.

Huffing and puffing, they arrived at the seventh floor, where they checked the water (it was still working) and then the lights (they were not).

Armed with orange juice and a chess set, they huffed and puffed back outside to spend the rest of the afternoon first chasing knights from the board, then chasing each other from the washrooms.

As the sky went dark following a sunset spectacularly invisible behind the ambient buildings, we - I mean, the two princes - whipped out a camera and bicycles for a downtown tour.

On the way, they glimpsed a side of their pretty little town they had never seen before: frustrated motorists crawling around frozen streetcars, citizens directing traffic with incredible expertise, all while everyone’s gas meters, like thousands of Doomsday clocks, inched ever closer toward midnight and traffic Armageddon.

Weaving around honking, frozen cars, our two heroes headed back to the enchanted highrise where they still managed to sleep two hours earlier than usual.

That night, I - er, I mean the prince - stared out the window at a glaring anachronism - stars in the downtown sky.

For the noble prince, the next morning was a nerve-wracking, danger-laden trek toward his homeland realm of North York. He was rewarded, however, by a hearty lunch of instant noodles (which his stomach promptly rejected).

Later, seeing his parents lying on the sofa with nothing to do was as strange as seeing the unchecked laundry sortie from its basket to make an assault upon the floors.

For one night and one day, 50 million people suddenly found time to spend quietly with their families. The good kingdom of Eastern Seaboardland rediscovered the joys of reading, of board games, of falling asleep when the sun went down.

Seeing all the good she had done, the wicked witch was so touched that she decided to take back her spell, quit her job and start a new career as Cinderella’s fairy godmother.

Then the lights came back on, and everyone lived hectically ever after.

THE END

"Aww, gramps, that didn’t REALLY happen, did it?"

(North York Mirror Aug. 22, 2003 )

[[许文辛]]

Powerless prince treks home to North York

More than 50 years from now, when I’m teaching my grandchildren about Canadian history, I imagine it would go something like this:
"Once upon a sunny Thursday afternoon, in the magical city of Toronto, a certain kind, handsome, chivalrous, charming prince took a stroll down Bay Street with his friend, on the way to the other kind, handsome prince’s enchanted highrise condominium. Looking for something to do, they walked into a video store and rented a movie to take with them. However, at this time a wicked witch happened to be zooming around the skies on her new Nimbus 2000. Being the wicked witch she was, she dropped her wand down the chimney of a power plant. Within seconds, the power grid of the Eastern seaboard had collapsed. Oh well, no movie tonight.

Now, all highrise condominiums in Toronto have gadgets called elevators, which were built to save princes the trouble of climbing stairs. With the electricity out, our two heroic princes took the staircase and obtained more exercise that night than they had gotten in the last two years.

Huffing and puffing, they arrived at the seventh floor, where they checked the water (it was still working) and then the lights (they were not).

Armed with orange juice and a chess set, they huffed and puffed back outside to spend the rest of the afternoon first chasing knights from the board, then chasing each other from the washrooms.

As the sky went dark following a sunset spectacularly invisible behind the ambient buildings, we - I mean, the two princes - whipped out a camera and bicycles for a downtown tour.

On the way, they glimpsed a side of their pretty little town they had never seen before: frustrated motorists crawling around frozen streetcars, citizens directing traffic with incredible expertise, all while everyone’s gas meters, like thousands of Doomsday clocks, inched ever closer toward midnight and traffic Armageddon.

Weaving around honking, frozen cars, our two heroes headed back to the enchanted highrise where they still managed to sleep two hours earlier than usual.

That night, I - er, I mean the prince - stared out the window at a glaring anachronism - stars in the downtown sky.

For the noble prince, the next morning was a nerve-wracking, danger-laden trek toward his homeland realm of North York. He was rewarded, however, by a hearty lunch of instant noodles (which his stomach promptly rejected).

Later, seeing his parents lying on the sofa with nothing to do was as strange as seeing the unchecked laundry sortie from its basket to make an assault upon the floors.

For one night and one day, 50 million people suddenly found time to spend quietly with their families. The good kingdom of Eastern Seaboardland rediscovered the joys of reading, of board games, of falling asleep when the sun went down.

Seeing all the good she had done, the wicked witch was so touched that she decided to take back her spell, quit her job and start a new career as Cinderella’s fairy godmother.

Then the lights came back on, and everyone lived hectically ever after.

THE END

"Aww, gramps, that didn’t REALLY happen, did it?"

(North York Mirror Aug. 22, 2003 )