Y2K was 24 years ago? How did that happen?
Dear Readers,
I’m thinking about Y2K, naturally. Do you remember what you were doing when the world was partying like it was 1999? I certainly do. I know you do too. If I’m doing the time-math correctly, it’s a safe assumption that people who are still reading the actual newspaper in 2024 were definitely around when the ball dropped on Y2K.
We were all afraid that the computerized algorithmic informational rotary code language was too ignorant to know how to roll our digital clocks with a 2 into the thousand spot. As we knew it, society was going to collapse. Do you recall?
Wasn’t that SO much pressure going into a new year? Whoa! Aren’t y’all so glad that there’s nothing terribly of note moving into 2024? That should already take a lot of pressure off, right?
Okay, so there I was, standing in the Big HEB on Dec. 31, 1999 to observe that no water whatsoever was available for purchase in any form or fashion. Aisles were completely wiped out.
I think it was the first time I had physically seen grocery-store-panic with my own eyes. The only thing quite like it was the toilet paper scare of Pandemic 2020. But, this was 1999, my senior year at SWT, and I was a sorority woman dating a fraternity boy that stereotypically came from old money.
I was invited to spend my Y2K Eve with him at The Dominion Country Club in San Antonio…the one where George Strait lives(d?), David Robinson and many other wealthy famous folk. All residing in this rich gated community donned “The Dominion.”
His mother sold her mansion-movie- star home near New Braunfels to the President of Mexico’s brother. (It had the space for their helicopter to land — something they *really needed* at their house.) At The Dominion, she was eager to have more friends nearby at the social club. That’s where I spent Y2K, obviously.
I wore a red dress that I borrowed from my sorority sister roommate where we shared a home that her parents purchased. She had the large master and walk-in closet with her own bathroom, and she loaned me a red Nordstrom dress from her collection. It was almost exactly like the dress from Pretty Woman — a scarlet strapless floor-length gown, and I was thrilled to wear it. Y2KELLY vibes!
When I arrived at my boyfriend’s mom’s mansion in my street clothes, she said that she understood that I'd be wearing red and requested I follow her down a long corridor touting “I have just the perfect jewels for your dress.” Her bathroom was much larger than my entire bedroom on Ramona Drive. There was sittin’ furniture. Windows. Carpet in places. A whole thing. She led me to a giant safe where she punched in her code and pulled out rubies!
The dazzling ruby necklace and unforgettable ruby earrings were draped about my noggin’. These souvenirs she’d casually purchased in India, nearly $15,000 worth of jewelry, wore as heavy as you would think. I was the same age as Julia Roberts when she played opposite Richard Gere, but I have no idea the value of that necklace.
The event at the country club was like none I’d ever attended. So fancy! Every room was opulent with an exaggerated abundance of diverse foods. I saw paella for the first time, and its vessel was so large that I could have laid down inside of it and made snow angels. Paella angels. Pie-angels. It was also the first time I’d seen real sushi.
Laid out on the buffet so beautifully, I eagerly became a sushi initiate and loaded a plate. When I plopped down at the table, seated fully with millionaire rich people, they looked at my plate and asked if I was certain that I wanted to eat my sushi like that.
You see, I thought that wasabi was avocado paste.
I smeared it all over the top of the nigiri, so they rightfully worried. I insisted that indeed that’s the way that I like it, and I pridefully slipped it into my mouth.
Despite the tears rolling down my cheeks, I kept a straight face. I aim to be that level of resolute moving into 2024. Xoxo,
Kelly Stone is an educator, comedian, mother, and author who loves the heck outta the river. She welcomes e-letters at kellystone.org or kellystonecomedy@gmail. com and adores handwritten notes and postcards via good ol’ snail mail.
