Toronto has been mental for the last couple of weeks. Labour Day hits, the kids go back to school, and it seems like everyone takes it up a notch. A sense of urgency has materialized and crushed the lazy days of summer in a matter of weeks. The Toronto International Film Festival has only added to the mania. Movie premieres, red carpets and crazed fans stalking celebrity gods like Brad Pitt, have taken over the city.
In Yorkville, land of flagship designer clothing stores (Prada, Gucci, Chanel), and poshy posh restaurants, young women dress like middle aged women - makeup covering luscious faces, masking their insecurity. Women just slightly past their due date, walk the streets with animal skin purses, stiletto heels and a look of desperation. Will they meet a producer? A director? or an actor? Is tonight the night they'll finally be discovered? Metrosexual men drive by in Porsche 911s and Bentleys, surveying the scene, slicked back hair and perfect 5:00 shadows. Do I look like a producer? A director? An actor? Is tonight the night I'll get lucky?
My friends and I walk up to the restaurant, and lo and behold there is a line of 20 people. This never happens. Not here. We stand with dismay on the sidewalk, considering our options. We are all starving. But blessings abound.
"How many of you are there?" the waiter asks us on the sidewalk.
"5!" we chorus, stars in our eyes.
"Ok," he says, under his breath, "stay here, I'll take care of you."
Rejoice! We are seated almost immediately.
But alas, we were not at an impossible-to-get-reservations-at restaurant.
And no, we were not at the hottest new club in town either.
There were no celebrities hanging out in the VIP room out back.
We were at a sushi restaurant.