TeenTimes:I sigh at the weary man at my doorstep. He has not answered my questions again; how very political. "Water crisis," I say again, with an emphasis on crisis. He shuffles his feet nervously, like someone who needs to go to the bathroom. The canvasser decides to state the figures on his card.

Eighty percent will soon be able to drink the water, blah blah blah. It's well and good to talk about it, but when it gets down to the nitty-gritty, what will actually happen? "But what will he physically do?" I interrupt, with a vengence, as he rambles on. "Well, he'll physically represent the 20 percent blah blah . . ." and off to the figures. I have so far learned one thing: when you need to waffle, quote statistics. He is losing my respect by the minute, and I know how much people need teenagers' respect.

I am not even at a legal age to vote but that hasn't stopped his propaganda to the people. I think they want to get them at a young age and have them for life; that's what the banks usually do. I decide to be smart and quote one of my favourite TV shows, Family Guy: "This all sounds very shallow and pedantic."

He gulps, and I can physically see the swallow going down his stressed throat; he is really not ready for smart-ass 16-year-olds.

I ponder if he actually knows what I'm talking about and I wait for the figures to rain down on me. Like cats and dogs he tells me that his candidate is different and deserves to be elected because 100 percent need blah, blah, blah - it's all maths to me. "We speak in English around here," is my response, but he decides to carry on.

The world is a tough place but he really does seem hell-bent on converting me to Fianna Fáil policies. I take a different tactic and pretend to take an interest in facts and figures about the past; it nearly turns into a history lesson. I hope to the man in the sky that people still don't view politics as what happened in the past, because we'll get nothing done for the future.

I take this verbal diarrhoea because maybe, just maybe he will realise that I can't vote and wander off to play in the traffic. He seems undeterred, and reminds me of the brave Japanese pilots who never back down or give in.

He tells me all about the fantastic website, and I can even join the campaign trail if I really care so deeply. Imagine, I could be just like him, bothering people at home. He tries to hand me the literature but I shrug with annoyance at this pesky nuisance.

I write "I can't vote" on a piece of paper and hand it to him; hopefully he'll get the message. He finally gives me a smile of sympathy and tells me to pass along the good news written in Bertie's bible. I actually smile at his attempt and realise too late that he thinks he's gained a vote. Election fever has gripped everyone and it looks as if, with no nurses, it will be hard to recover.

Conor Mulloy (16) is a fifth-year student at St Joseph's College in Galway

Articles of 500 words are welcome from teenagers. Please send them to teentimes@irish-times.ie and include a phone number