It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Tuesday, and Rob Ford calls me. The Mayor of Toronto, a city of three million people, says he wants to help with the construction on my street.

I’m about to learn how it feels to be a recipient of Ford’s customer service.

Road repair has been blocking a lane of traffic at College and Beverley Streets — my neighbourhood — since March. Crews only work on it two to three days a week. I’m not alone in this frustration. Everyone in this city must have a stalled piece of roadwork or construction like this.

Eventually, I got in touch with Jennifer Chan, the constituency assistant for ward 20 Trinity Spadina. She explained that it’s a two-part job, that the crew has to move back and forth from Dundas St. to College St., but that the job would end within a few weeks.

But before I’d gotten that answer, on the slim chance that it might return my street to normalcy, I had called the mayor. He’s always giving out his personal phone number, telling people to call him for a variety of reasons.

A month later, when Ford calls, asking how he can help, he sounds tired. He asks for my address and promises to come to my home on Thursday morning at 11 a.m.

I ask him how the Mayor of such a large city can be spending his time helping me with my small problem. He asks if I want his help or not.

The following day I get a call from David Price, Ford’s director of logistics and operations. He gathers my details, assuring me of grease for my squeaky wheel. Why have I been bumped to the top of the list of Toronto’s problems to solve, I ask? The mayor called you, he answers.

Over the past two years, as a columnist for this newspaper, I’ve extended multiple dinner invitations to Rob Ford. These invitations have not been acknowledged.

On Thursday morning, the young man who arrives at my door introduces himself as Jonathan, a new hire in the Mayor’s office.

We walk up to the corner where I’m greeted by Price, Ford and three more city employees. Price has a jovial manner and a firm handshake, delivered from above like a karate chop.

The mayor is wearing a striped blue tie, his jacket unbuttoned and top collar undone. He stares straight ahead to the Starbucks across the street. Ford’s staff do all the talking.

He shakes my hand but is reluctant to accept the lunch I’ve packed for him. I think he could use a nutritious meal if he’s going to spend his day helping private citizens like me.

So I assure him that it’s a balanced lunch, a steak sandwich with pickled onions and basil and a salad with dressing on the side. He gives up a little smile when I say dressing on the side. The steak is bavette, cooked medium rare, sauced with jus, which is beef stock reduced down to a near-syrup. So basically, super-gravy. I include a signed copy of my book because, like the mayor, I never miss an opportunity to campaign.

I explain that I am a food writer and that I write a column for the Toronto Star, that I understand he’s no fan of the Star, but I hope he’ll still help with my problem. He shrugs, handing me a map of the street, the construction areas highlighted in yellow.

Nancy Bonham, head of a major city division, explains that aging water main infrastructure is being replaced, that it is usually a three-month job and should be finished by Friday, June 14.

That could have been communicated to everyone, with a sign on the corner.

The mayor moves closer to the construction area to stare into the empty hole, where he remains until I ask to take a photo with him. Next to him stands another city worker and a police officer.

That’s a total of eight people, one of them the Mayor of North America’s fourth largest city, coming to my house to tell me that the job will be finished next week.

Someone told me that I’d feel differently about the mayor after I met him. But I don’t feel like we’re actually meeting. Ford, gazing into the empty hole, seems as involved as most pedestrians who, stuck at this red light, gaze into the empty hole.

I say that I appreciate all this attention, but ask if there is anything accomplished by so many busy people coming here, that couldn’t have been achieved by a simple phone call.

The two city workers stand mute. “We’re going to make sure that we’re done by the 14th,” one eventually offers. “Because now we’ve committed to it,” adds the other. Price pipes in. “You’ve got visibility now, Corey.”

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I pose for a photo with Ford. He puts his arm around me and I tell him that I like his tie. He shakes my hand, saying, “Nice meeting you, sir,” and shuffles off with his staff. I thank Price and wish Jonathan good luck with his new job.

They climb into the Mayor’s large vehicle. Ford is in the driver’s seat.