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The ground is wet and leaves litter the streets as we arrive at The Omni Hotel in eager anticipation of the night ahead of us. With a cup of espresso, a shot of whiskey and smoke in our lungs, we are ready. There is a buzz inside as cameras flash and people scribble in their notepads, staring relentlessly at the screen as the results come hammering in. The room is high with excitement, a dream filled with blue flashes of Webb blurred décor. We make our way to the back to observe; my press pass, which I obtained in an almost dubious way, is chaffing the thigh where I chose to pin it.The people are running back and forth, instant acquaintances with the plucky few who sit in the corner bearing lap tops with faster outcomes than MSNBC. People mingle, meet, and talk, all of us drawn together in an event that could possibly set the stage for the next political realignment. Cheers fill the air, hugs throughout, as seat after seat is claimed as a blue victory.
It isn't all excitement, this night will be long, we know that going in. A race like this may actually not be over for another month, but we are here, observing, bringing it all in, soaking up this feeling that will never dissipate as a memory.
It is a mélange of people here tonight. We have the suit and ties, often questioning whether they are lawyers or car salesmen, we have the mismatched flowy skirt wearing, flowered hat toting ladies who mutter to themselves in the bathroom stall and somehow convert it into dialogue with me as we stand together at the sink and stare at our faces so we can remember. We have Tucker Carlson, or so we dubbed him, reserved as he paces in a jittery eagerness, where at 96% Webb still trails in the race and the real Tucker reports. Then we have the man we call little dog, with a woman way outside his league, peering around the corner at the TV as the hotel fills with more and more people. They begin positioning themselves on chairs, standing precariously to see past the bouncing ones who give knowing glances to the others as Senate after Senate race goes our way, and cheers echo throughout the throng.
The extreme diversity in the crowd shows the spirit of this night, as voter turnout rocks history and proves the voice of the people is still strong. Every one here tonight emanates a resounding oneness, from all walks of life we stand here; united in this room we optimistically await the results that could change history. We await the kind of results that could fill storybooks with that pot of gold, with that resonating "happily ever after."
The night ends at 2 am when Webb claims for himself a victory not quite proven, but a verdict well received. We walk outside to what feels like a hurricane, blood thick with patriotism and alcohol coursing through our veins, and for the first time I have a clear idea of what my future calling just might be. This is my scene; this is where I want to be. Yep, it is a great damn day to be a Democrat.
