My Last Great Drunk

Thirty cans of kidney beans and tuna fish stocked my basement shelves. Gallons of water and pounds of rice brightened all things tinned.

It was New Years’ Eve, 1999.

Newscasters whipped the world into a frenzy by questioning if computers could handle the digit change from 1999 to 2000. Grid systems could fail, many reported. The stock markets would crash. Airplanes might fall out of the sky. Store up a month’s worth of food, many encouraged. Hell in a Y2K handbasket it was.