Election Day -- I am not even talking about that presidential race for which they will be still counting the votes until 2008 -- I am talking the real heart of the matter: local Brooklyn politics. Since I campaigned for an elected official, the days leading up to my November 7 was filled with pounding the pavement in front of a school and hanging out in a subway station.

The subway station stint wasn't bad, actually. Went by pretty quickly during rush hour. Almost amusing bombarding people as they scurried to make their 7:06 train to work. The only time it got ugly was when I was hit by the realization that I had become one of those people I hate. I used to avoid those "vote for this person" people like the plague, usually opting instead to either cross the street (in this case, take a different train), or actually step through puddles of dog doo just to veer out of their path. Instead I was one of them. But I learned that there are basically three types of people to which you try to hand out literature: 1) those who will not take it, avoiding eye-contact altogether or meeting you with a vehement "No! Thank you," their arm raised in mock combat; 2) those whose faces slump to a meek expression of resignation and sheepishly accept whatever you hand them; or 3) those who wrench it from your hand and proceed to spit at you. Seriously, I did not get spit on. But some of the people were quite inquisitive "Who is this man" to downright argumentative "Why should I vote for him?! What did he do for me?"

Hanging out by a school with voting booths on Election Day morning was a different story altogether. It was cold. One entire side of the building was engulfed in a wind-whipping shade. A few people trickled here and there, their minds already made up as to how they were voting. And it was boring. The only excitement came when the competitor came by and threw a temper tantrum. We were up against a man/boy running for the same seat -- a rich kid who promised if he won the election to donate his salary to a charity which manufactures Pokemon Tinker Toys.

After spying the posters which were hung in front of the school, this man/boy came screeching up in his car -- which was adorned with New Jersey license plates, by the way -- flung himself out of the driver's seat (almost knocking over his booster chair in the process) and threw a hissy fit. It would have been complete if he, like a three-year-old, actually started stomping his feet. And then he stomped his feet. He flew into the school, followed closely by his minions (who, as we later learned, ended up being his fiancée and his mother), and demanded action. He railed at the cops, he railed at me and my co-campaigner, he railed against life in general and the fact that his parents still made him go to bed by 10 o'clock.

The man/boy then sunk his teeth into the 100-feet rule, a law which mandates you must be at least 100 feet from any voting place if you wish to attempt to brainwash people into voting your way by handing out palm cards. The cops were called, at one point they sought out the sergeant, arguments ensued. The bottom line came when an officer emerged and counted the distance, inch by inch, marking it off with a ruler and a fat white piece of chalk.

I think if the officer hadn't resolved this all-important dispute, the man/boy was ready to go over their heads, calling President Clinton...until he realized that Bill, for some reason, doesn't have much clout in this country anymore. Besides the gross display of immaturity, the only other highlight of the  tethered-by-the-school episode was the generosity of the PTA ladies who offered me sugar-free chocolate chip cookies and the best cup of tea I ever did taste.

We had no victory party for our victor, who won by a landslide, unless you count a box of jelly-filled Dunkin' Donuts that are probably still hanging out at the office. We have no time to waste with victory parties -- we must move on to bigger tasks. As the rest of America is busy counting and recounting the presidential tally, I shall instead concentrate on getting this everlasting mantra out of my head: "Don't forget to vote..."