9:30 p.m. Election Night, and two wobbly 21-year-olds stand outside Costa Mesa's Kona Lanes smoking. Both are Bush supporters, but only one voted. “I didn't vote, but if I did, I'd vote for Bush,” says the other one. “I don't want Gore in there. He's just, like, too government-oriented.” He goes on like this for a bit, and then his friend—the one who voted—accuses him of not knowing what the hell he's talking about. “You pulled that outta your ass, dude.” “No, I didn't, dude!” he smartly retorts. And so it goes inside the bowling alley, where most of the lanes are packed with young Bush supporters, many of whom didn't vote and don't know why they support Bush but just feel, vaguely, that, you know, he's, like, the one they're supposed to choose. “I voted for Nader!” shouts a rebel, bowling with a passel of well-heeled young Republicans. “I think a third party needs to come in and shake shit up,” he says. His friends, if they voted, voted for Bush. The Naderite has an explanation for at least one of them: “This bitch is going to inherit $2 million, so he wants Bush to win so he doesn't get the inheritance tax.” 11:30 p.m. Bush has been declared the winner. The crowd at the Costa Mesa bar the Little Knight is older and less enthusiastic. “I'm bummed,” says a man in his early 30s. “I wanna puke,” says a woman. Midnight. A supermarket. “Hey, I just heard Bush won,” a checker announces triumphantly. Someone asks who he voted for; he pretends not to hear. My impartiality slips away. “It doesn't bother you that he's an idiot?” I ask. The man behind me chimes in. “I can't stand Bush. I can't look at him,” he says. “He makes me want to vomit.” —Alison M. Rosen
