Is there a better way to spend election night than in a newsroom? Highly doubtful. Each November (and especially every 4 years) an “all hands to battle stations!” alarm is sounded, and our newspaper becomes what I imagine to be a perfect facsimile of clattering typewriters and copy boys running furiously down to the press with the latest type. We all down some suds afterwards, bitching and grousing about how difficult the night was, but deep down, we are very, very proud.

There’s something immensely satisfying about waiting in line to vote. It’s the most diverse group of people you could possibly assemble, and everyone looks determined as hell. It’s slightly scary, however, to hear some of the conversation while waiting in line. Lots of “do i need my ID? do i need my voters card?” No and no… and then I see comments on our newspaper site saying “To shorten lines, Democrats have been asked to vote on Wednesday the 5th” and I want to punch people in the face. I only had to wait 35 minutes, but my polling place had several hundred in line that evening.

I walked to vote and that felt ever more right. It was 70 degrees in November, an anomaly in itself, and we now have the first African-American president elected. A CityLink worker in his truck stopped me to ask where the polling place was. He had that same determined face… and a look of elation.

It’s Christmas morning. And Washington Post’s Hank Stuever sums it up perfectly.

There’s so much to love about the standing part today, amid all the drab beige, taking in the smell of someone else’s coffee, rereading the entire newspaper, stuck in the line of voters that doesn’t seem to move but, in fact, does. Then comes the sticker.

What a wonderful and boring thing, voting together.