We're walking down the street at 1.30am. Ahead someone is shouting 'give me an O, give me a B' and rippling down the street goes the cry O B A M A... Cyclists are whooping, motorists are beeping, and everyone else is stumbling home gripping each other, tired, hoarse, and happy.
We arrived at Amy's apartment for the first results, clutching our election bingo forms (courtesy of the Guardian), pens poised, ready to tick off the states as they're called and add up the electoral college votes aiming for the magic number: 270. By 7.30 the projections are already starting to come in - we mark off one fat lady in McCain's column, 3 in Obama's. I need a drink.
By the time we head to a bar it's 9.30 and the columns are filling up - Obama's line is looking healthy, the bigger numbers are with him, but I'm still feeling hugely superstitious - I keep knocking on wood, or in the absence of wood, my head. I'm aware that this looks a bit bonkers, but I can't stop myself. We get in line for the bar, there are huge crowds of Brooklyn hipsters outside - it's one in, one out -- 'let me put it this way' says the doorman 'if you were inside with a drink watching the results on a big screen, would you leave?'. Okay, we get his point, but we're here now and it's amazing to be surrounded by all these people, so we do what Brits do best. We queue.
As we near the door we can hear screams from inside. 'WHAT??? ' 'Nooo'.... 'WHAT...' 'Can you believe it?' 'WHAT!' Bloody hell, this is frustrating. WHAT has happened? Then it starts getting passed down. He's won Ohio. Holy crap, even I know this is big. About a minute later a girl shouts 'hey guys my sister just said he's got Ohio'. Everyone looks at her. Err, alright love - we heard already.
We consider starting a Chinese whisper about Texas...
Once inside and onto the 4th vodka (drinks here are kind of like electoral college votes - they have an arbitrary relationship to the volume of spirits they actually contain) we start to acclimatise. We're in the 'back room', which is a big as Brixton Academy. Your favourite band is playing. All your friends are here. But everyone is staring at the biggest TV you've ever seen. As we get closer to the 'top of the hour' people start counting down with the clock and it goes eerily quiet. Colours flash on screen and numbers appear. Boos, cheers, cheers, boos, screams, hand clapping and dancing. I'm still nervous. I knock my head ('Fan, do you have tourette's?)
New Mexico for Obama. Wow.
The polls are closing in the West. I think we're reaching 11pm though I'm losing track. The countdown starts and they're going to announce Virginia, or Florida perhaps, but then it comes on the screen. They are calling it for Obama. He is the next president of the United States. So soon? I thought we were going to be here 'til 5 in the morning but no, people are yelling, jumping up and down, punching the air. We are hugging each other and kissing strangers. Amy throws her drink over everyone, forgetting that vodka doesn't have the same effervescent quality as champagne. 'Signed, sealed, delivered' comes blasting out of the huge speakers and we're all dancing. 'I don't know this song,' says my American Boy, Chris, as I try to whirl him around. I think he's worse than the girl outside.
As McCain comes out to concede the crowd again is quiet. A couple of people boo but generally we are respectful, clapping - some even commenting that if this is how he'd conducted himself during the race, he may have stood a better chance. Palin gets a big boo, and no respect - from the crowd gathered here, anyway.
And then it's time for Him - and you know the rest.
written by Frances Owen, Publicity Manager currently on sabbatical at Grove/Atlantic New York
