It's a Dad's Life Adam BrophyI don't think there's ever a good time to go knocking on a stranger's door. At one low point in my illustrious career, I sold EsatBT's residential phone service door to door. Door after door, you witness people's faces fall as they realise you're flogging something; that they left EastEnders so you could blather on about international and mobile rates per minute.
Door after door you maintain this painted smile, convincing yourself that this isn't the most demeaning thing you've ever done and you're actually providing a valuable service. You're on commission, so without that conviction you're scuppered.
I wonder do these thoughts go through our politicians' minds at each threshold. At various stages during the last month we've had callers during dinner, during bath time, and once, memorably, just as I was tiptoeing gently from the monsters' bedroom, the first silent sounds of peace descending on our domicile. Bing bong.
"Hi, I'm canvassing for the Taoiseach. Are there any issues in the area you'd like to bring to his attention?"
"Waaaa, haaaa, haaa. Daaa-aaaddyyy?"
"Well, Mr FF representative, how about you get your boss to sit down with my kids for another half hour of gentle lullabies, because that's what I now have in store now, thanks to your intervention. See if he can blatantly disregard their demands as easily as he did Enda Kenny's last week."
Tony Gregory is the man. Dinnertime. Soundtrack something like this: Younger: "Waaaah, me want a treat, me want a treat!" Elder: "Aaaah, why can't I just have chocolate chip cookies for dinner? You always say no. I'm eating nothing unless you say yes. You should change your name to Mean. Aaaahhh!"
Bing bong. Tony Gregory (cocking an eyebrow at the cacophony from the kitchen): "Can I count on your number one vote?" Cheers Tony, don't bother trying to soft-soap me. I tell him he has as good a chance of getting it as anyone else. He tips me a wink and off he goes.
Two nights later, TV wars. Elder: "Why do we always have to watch Dora? I hate Dora! I want to watch Scooby Doo! Aaaah!" Younger: "Nooooo! Me want to watch Dora!" Bing bong.
"Hi, I'm representing Patricia McKenna in the area tonight. Unfortunately, Patricia was called away to a meeting but is there anything you'd like to ask me on her behalf?" I hear the thud of a dig landing from the living room and the distinct sound of remote control connecting with skull.
"Ah, sounds like you have your hands full in there," chortles my new Green buddy. All I can think of is nuclear power and how I would like to turn its awesome potential directly on my bickering children, to see if it is as clean as the pro-lobby claims. But I know this would disappoint my latest visitor, so I nod politely and explain that this isn't a great time.
No sign of Mary Lou or Gerry though. Labour and Fine Gael have caught me when the kids are out, times when I'm so full of bonhomie they wind up making excuses to get away. I tell them they'll get my first preference only if they promise to call me afterwards. Been hurt too often in the past.
The elder, somewhat bemused by the parade of ropey mugshots adorning the area, asks, "Are we voting for Bertie, Dad? Is he the best?" If name recognition is a marketer's measure of brand success, then Bertie is Nike, Coca-Cola and Marlboro in one. The elder has been marking Bertie's visits to the avenue for over a year now - afterwards sitting up on our gatepost, telling passers-by that the "Tea Shock" just called in for a chat. What Enda Kenny would give for that kind of youth awareness; we'll find out by the weekend if it'll be him "Tea Shocking" us for the next few years.
abrophy@irish-times.ie
