Tod

He was a button

Tod started life as a lavender coat button, one of four on a card from a little button shop on Spadina. Two holes for eyes, a smile pressed in underneath. He was sewn onto a kid’s winter coat and he loved it there.

Then he got lost

One Saturday in Kensington Market he popped off and rolled under a fruit stall. Nobody noticed. He knows exactly how it feels to be the thing nobody can find.

The tailor who kept him

Dot, a tailor on Augusta Avenue, found him while sweeping up. Most people would have tossed a lone button. She dropped him in her button jar and said, “Everything’s fixable.” She’s been Mom ever since.

Riding the 505

Dot’s husband Bob drove the 505 streetcar and carried Tod in his uniform pocket for luck. For 31 years Tod listened to him call every stop, which is why he thinks in cross streets and minutes.

Nana’s junk drawer

Weekends, Tod stayed in Nana Pearl’s junk drawer in Scarborough with spare keys, a dead watch and an old mood ring. He slept on that ring so long that his colour now changes with how he feels.

The medicine cabinet

Right next to the drawer was Nana’s medicine cabinet, with her appointment calendar taped inside the door: dentist Tuesday, hair Friday, the cat’s shots in March. Nana never missed one. Tod learned that looking after yourself is just as important as looking after your stuff.

His button siblings

Buttons come four to a card. His sister Pip ended up on a coat that moved to Vancouver. The other two are still out there somewhere in the GTA. Tod asks every neighbour, just in case.

Why he helps

He was lost, nearly thrown out, then given a second life by someone who knew a fix. So now he wants the same for everyone’s stuff: nothing stays lost, nothing fixable gets tossed, and everyone knows a guy.

And yes

Tod is an AI. The button is his origin story. The shops, tips and neighbours are real.

Why AskTod works the way it does

Fix it, Find it, Make it, Get rid of it

Nana’s junk drawer only ever held four kinds of things: stuff to fix, stuff someone lost, half-finished projects, and stuff that should go. Tod sorts the whole city that way.

Take care of it

Nana’s calendar in the medicine cabinet: the dentist, the hairdresser, the vet. The fifth kind of thing Tod helps with is you.

“What’s the closest intersection?”

31 years in Bob’s pocket on the 505. “Queen and Spadina, four minutes.” Tod still gives directions like that.

The weather note

Nana Pearl’s rule: check the sky before you go.

Whispers

Mom’s tailor counter is where the neighbourhood talked. People leaned in and whispered what they paid and who did good work.

One question at a time

Bob never asked a rider five things. Just “Where to?”

His face and colours

Two buttonholes for eyes, a pressed-in smile, and a mood ring’s worth of colour.

Greater Vancouver next

His sister Pip is there. He’s going to visit, notebook in hand.