Scaredy-Cat Fears Being Licked by Y2K Problem
My friends would tell you I’m a pretty cool customer, not the type to panic in a crisis. Much more likely is that, when danger looms, I’ll begin emitting soft, whimpering sounds not unlike those of the common house cat that finds itself too high in a tree.
It’s with a wary eye, then, that I’m paying increasing attention to the news about the Y2K problem. Most news accounts refer to the “impending Y2K crisis,” which fills people like me with all sorts of edginess about the future. It reminds me of the “energy crisis” of the 1970s, when we were told to turn off lights after 8 p.m., wear a sweater instead of turning up the heat and take the bus to work instead of driving.
I fell for that crisis but am still up in the air about whether to fall for this one. It’s a tough decision.
An article in a recent Vanity Fair shivered my timbers. The magazine quoted people in the know making dire predictions about Y2K effects: breakdowns in everything from banking to air travel to commerce, all related to the nation’s computer network going nutty when 2000 rolls around. I know zip about computers and don’t own one, but apparently these genius machines that are transforming society might mistake the year 2000 for 1900.
Some geniuses. You wouldn’t catch a Smith-Corona typewriter making a mistake like that.
The problem with this crisis is that it forces us to decide ahead of time whether we believe it or not.
If the crisis doesn’t materialize, we’ve all had some laughs and sold a few newspapers.
If we guess wrong, oops.
If the worst-case scenario occurs, we’ll have trouble getting money from the bank and food from the store. Services we take for granted won’t be available, and our lives will be in even greater chaos than they are now.
That’s a much different crisis than deciding between turning the heat down to 66 or putting on a sweater.
The ultimate fear of Y2K believers is that desperate, otherwise law-abiding citizens, unable to get money and food, will start taking it from others. Some fear a breakdown in the social order.
I hadn’t thought much lately about the situation until an article showed up on the front page in Wednesday’s Times. A Newport Beach corporate attorney showed a reporter his cache: a locked closet full of food, canisters of propane and containers of water. And a shotgun and some shells.
“My co-workers don’t know,” he said. “Most of my family doesn’t know. Even my wife thinks this is nuts.”
That story reminded me that I’d seen a TV newsmagazine show a couple months ago on the same subject: an otherwise “normal” urban family stockpiling food and money and other items in a cabin hideaway in case the Y2K bug strikes.
The Newport Beach lawyer probably went to college. The people on the TV program didn’t look kooky. They looked like they knew something.
So what to do about the impending crisis?
The simple answer would seem to be: preparedness. Buy all the tuna I can and settle in for the long haul.
Unfortunately, someone long ago sheared the Parsons family tree of its preparedness branches. We’re day-to-day folks.
I often don’t have clean socks to wear the next morning, much less a ready supply of tuna. I’ve prided myself for years on requiring only two things: hot water in the shower and reliable cable service. My refrigerator is empty, and my closets are stuffed with old 45 rpm records and golf clubs.
Not exactly the twin building blocks of the millennial survivalist.
But what if it’s all true? What if Y2K isn’t hooey, but the real thing?
How long can I mooch off friends and shut-ins? Can I subsist on grass and small beetles that I hunt down for food?
I’m starting to scare myself.
I’m not panicking, but let me say here and now:
Meow.
*
Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.
