Good question. I should have gone to that party. I passed it at the beginning of the night and it called out to me. Fun people, not like those uptight Slopers. It’s true what they say, racists never prosper. History doesn’t support that, I know, but wouldn’t I have had fun if I’d not been such a bigot? Clearly, my experience, and not the experience of the world, should make the rule.

Fuck. Why don’t they have bumper stickers anymore? I might have passed one that said “Racists Never Prosper” and my whole night would have been different. Or a t-shirt. Why don’t all t-shirts glow in the dark? True, I’ve never seen one that said “Racists Never Prosper” but I might have tonight. Maybe.

Don’t wanna drop my keys and wake somebody up. A lot of people seem out early, though. Holy shit, it’s 10AM, where are all the people?! Didn’t notice the day happening while I was walking home.

To the office, I mean.

Okay, yes, I’ve been living in the office. It’s an apartment, so why shouldn’t I? Before I was elected, I didn’t even have a real address, I was sleeping in a storage space. Not a storage PLACE, I’m not an animal (unless it’s necessary), but my friend uses a tiny apartment for storage and I lived in the aisle between the stacks of teetering boxes poised to tumble and kill me.

Wha…where are my keys? Don’t wanna drop ’em and… Oh yeah, it’s daytime. I can hurl ’em to the ground and it won’t mean nothin’ t…”YAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!! (That’s not someone upset by falling keys. I got inside and am shriekin’ like a mofo.) WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!!”

“Will you stop yelling?”

“This CAN’T be the wrong apartment unless everybody uses the same key and THAT would only happen if they bought the locks at the 99 cent store. Wait, my used tissues are on the desk.”

“Yick.”

“I didn’t say what I used them for.”

“We had a meeting scheduled. You were late.”

“Are you the girl I was supposed to interview? Didn’t you get my note?”

“It said to wait.”

“And you waited all night? You’re CRAZY. I would NEVER hire you. You SCARED me.”

“Awww. You got some messages. I told your answering service to unforward your calls and started taking them here. Not too many but the local Democratic club called this morning and I thought…”

“Okay, you’re hired. Tell everyone else who calls that I’m home today, a little under the weather.”

“You’re going home? Do you have a cell number I can…”

“I AM home. If you need me, shout. You didn’t move the couch, did you?”

Ah, my wonderful couch. All that’s left is the snoring. And the periods when I stop breathing due to apnea. I probably shouldn’t have hired that girl all cute like that, like you see in a movie, but that’s the way things are in my head, I’ve been ruined by movies and stuff just like everyone else. I’m sure I’ll regret my decision, but I’d regret any decision I’d make on any basis, so what the fuck.

“I’ll go get someone.”

The guard disappeared and I realized I had a moment of opportunity. I could give in to the voice in my head that says, “Run awaaaaaaaaaaay.”

I didn’t want to be conspicuous. Conspicuousness in this context could only be embarrassing. I was the guy who says, “I’m on the list.” Desperation defined me.

Herr Gatemeister returned.

“Look, you don’t have to get anybody. If I’m not on the list and you don’t feel you can let me in, I’m happy to…”

De Blasio strolled out, all tall and handsome. Oh, why did it have to be him?

“Somebody said they’re a friend of mine??”

“I didn’t say that, I…”

De Blasio squinted.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Andrew Lederer, I…”

“Oh, yeah. The guy with the video.”

“Yes, but I’m now a…”

“You can come in.”

Hah! It hadn’t been too embarrassing. I followed the mayor-elect as the crowd sounds and yuppie pulsations grew stronger.

“Andrew, you didn’t have to be nasty to my associate.”

“I wasn’t nasty, I was sar…”

Mister Mayor(-elect) was gone.

God, it feels like this is all happening now, rather than in my memory. Maybe it’s ’cause I’m in the same bar having the same can of beer I drank to bolster myself before returning, yet again, to that elusive party. I figured three dollars was a reasonable price to pay for the necessary confidence. Crap.

I wonder if this is the EXACT same can of beer. Did I leave some over? The phlegmy brew is giving me no confidence in the bar, just as it failed to make go back to that shindig for which I’d been girding. Fortunately, on election night, the hoppy mucous had been accompanied by a NY 1 guy on television, waiting at the Park Slope Armory for de Blasio’s party to kick into gear. That was probably the party to be at anyway. And it was close.

Two major citywide victories in one night, both for Brooklyn pols, with parties near to each other, right in my home borough. What better proof could you get of Brooklyn’s increasing preeminence in the municipal equation? I was proud. And also glad, ’cause it meant I could walk to the de Blasio soiree and not have to pop for a cab.