It was May 6, the first city council meeting after Rob Ford went into rehab for alcohol and drug abuse. I got on the small official elevator on the main floor of city hall only to find Ford’s big brother Doug was on the same elevator. The elevator stopped on the second floor and everyone but the two of us got out. Some other people were about to get on but Doug asked them to wait so that we could talk. The doors closed, he turned to me and said, “Rob feels really badly about what he said. He is embarrassed.”

Mr. Ford felt badly because the previous week, in one of his drunken stupors, he suggested some horrible sexual acts that he would like to do to me. His comments made headlines. They also made it into my kids’ schoolyard.

Doug asked me if I wanted a public apology. “No,” I said. “If he wants to apologize he should call me. He has my number.” The last thing I wanted was to relive the incident through the media.

Indeed, when Mr. Ford was in rehab he seemed to have time to call his constituents, journalists, friends and hangers-on, and other colleagues. Just about everyone it seemed, but me.

Then this week, on his first day back, basking yet again in the attention of the media in his trite controlled press conference, what does he do? He singles me out with his “public apology.”

It raises the question, what is an apology? I mean a real apology. Not the kind of apology that you give when you are late for a meeting or forget to put gas in the car or leave the wet laundry in the washing machine. An apology is heartfelt. It’s when you realize you’ve hurt someone, betrayed their trust or lied for no good reason.

A real apology is about actions, not hollow words. It is hard work. Personal. It takes strength to face your own shortcomings. A few weeks ago I apologized after I lost my temper and yelled at my best friend. It is private. Important. It takes courage to look someone that you have wronged in the eye and say “I am sorry.”

Over the last 11 years I have made mistakes as a councillor and had to apologize when I was wrong. It means being open to criticism and accepting that you have made a mistake.

It is the difference between being a child and being a grown-up.

When the media asked me how I felt about Mr. Ford’s public apology, I said the simple truth. “He has my number.” The media continues to ask.

Mr. Ford has still not called. This is from someone who claims he calls everyone back.

Now my phone is off the hook to Mr. Ford. I have no interest in taking his call. Like every person in this city, I don’t need spineless, pre-scripted, speech-written, rip-and-read, I’ll take no questions, vacuous words.

Unlike Mr. Ford, I’m running for mayor on my 11-year record of achievement. I had the courage to stand up to him when he had no plan to get Toronto moving. As a result of my leadership, transit is getting built, difficult decisions have been made and the city is getting back to work.

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I have a plan to tackle congestion and give people back what they value most — their time.

Like most of you, I don’t want to spend any more time on the circus. Bottom line, I am bored of Mr. Ford.

Karen Stintz is a Toronto city councillor currently running for mayor.

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