Y2K fears fade when you have a survival plan Bob Comfort Not always, but often enough, things that scare pretty much everybody come in three-word packages. World War Two, for example. The Black Plague. Open-heart surgery.

How about, "That's sexual harassment!" Or, "You're under arrest."

You ever notice that? The three-word thing?

I made the connection last week, while watching kids skip rope at the park. They sang while they skipped. The tune was "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?" but they'd replaced "Big Bad Wolf" with "Y2K," and asked, "Who's Afraid of the Y-2-K?"

It made me most unhappy, the children singing, because I knew the answer: I was afraid of the Y-2-K.

Understand, please -- I'm no wimp. And I know a bit about survival.

I've been through two major Los Angeles earthquakes, a life-threatening illness and an Okinawan typhoon, packing sustained winds of 140 knots.

I've eaten snakes, grubs, rodents, roots and wild berries. I've been shot at by angry, drunken sailors in Hawaii.

I've been knocked silly by a beer-bottle-armed cowboy in Yuma, Ariz., and I've been chased by a squad of Mexican policemen. Most dangerous of all, I survived my first marriage.

Not that I'm claiming any special heroism. Earthquakes terrify me, as do typhoons, cancers, snakes, grubs, rodents, roots and wild berries. Drunken sailors with pistols, cowboys with beer bottles and fleet-footed Mexican policemen are the stuff of horrible nightmares, and mere mention of my first wife leaves me all shrunken and shaky.

But after watching those children, hearing their Y2K song, my terror grew. It was awful. And two days later it got worse.

My wife and I were invited for dinner at the home of Stan and Shirley Irwin. We weren't best friends, but they were a nice, quiet, church-going couple, and we enjoyed them.

Toting a medium-priced white wine, we arrived, dressed for a suburban dinner. Our hosts, both dressed in army boots and camouflage uniforms, answered the door. That was not like Stan and Shirley Irwin.

Other shocks soon followed. The house had no furniture, no electricity. By candlelight, sitting on the bare floor, we "ate" a small meal: survival food, freeze dried in individual foil packages, washed down with bottled water. There was no bottle opener.

They explained, as we munched on something crispy, that this was their last night in town. They'd sold most of their stuff and had sent the rest to their new home in Boulder, Colo.

They'd begun their preparations early last January. They had told no one. Boulder was chosen because it was the city most prepared for the disasters Y2K was sure to bring.

Their new home, solidly built to exacting Y2K standards by one of the most aware Y2K home builders in America, was ready for them now, with plenty of time to settle in before the millennium New Year marked the end of civilization as we know it.

Though unobtrusive, it was an expensive home, and worth it, according to Stan and Shirley. It ran on standard electricity, fully backed by both solar power and electric generators.

The two large generators were powered by fuel from in-ground storage tanks holding many, many gallons. A deep well, hidden inside the house, would provide 300 percent of their needs for clear, clean, cool water.

The basement was used for safe storage of vital papers, food and "other things." The food, canned or freeze-dried, was guaranteed to be delicious and yummy edible for at least 12 years.

The other things? They didn't say, though they made several comments regarding how "easily defended" their place was. Thus, I assumed their stores included weapons and ammo.

As the somber evening continued, they spoke of the coming disaster. Scary stuff: total economic and political collapse, worthless paper money, anarchy in the street, roving gangs, looting, raping, burning.

Worse, it was well-known that Bill Clinton and his henchmen were planning to use Y2K as an excuse to declare martial law and install Clinton as president for life.

I couldn't help hearing the children singing their Y2K song. Couldn't help imagining them skipping rope on my grave.

The evening ended with a warning: Do not try and find us. Even if we were somehow able to discover their sanctuary, they couldn't and wouldn't help us. They might even shoot us. Stay away.

Needless to say, the drive home wasn't a lot of fun. A block from the Irwin's, my wife began to cry.

Why weren't we prepared? Why hadn't I done more to protect us? Didn't I care? Didn't I love her enough?

Was that it? I protested. Of course I loved her. Of course I cared. And I did protect us.

Didn't we each have a box of survival stuff in the trunks of our cars? She wasn't impressed. Food and water for three days? Big deal.

It wasn't just food and water, I said. Each box had a first-aid kit, didn't it? And flares? And a thermal blanket? And waterproof matches?

And what about the hand-held air horn for signaling? The battery-operated radio, and the water purification tablets? Plus, the 50-foot coil of nylon rope!!

What about that? Huh? What about that?

She mocked me. Perfect! While we're being looted and raped by roving gangs, you can signal with the air horn. And who cares if we haven't any fuel tanks? We have 50 feet of rope!

It turned into a nasty fight, and I ended up angry and guilty, sleepless on the couch, staring at the TV.

More mockery. Most of the commercials, as they have for the last six months, were flogging some must-have Y2K survival item: everything from compasses to camp-cots, knives to night-vision goggles, bullets to butane lamps.

The commercials all pounded the basic message. Unless I bought the items, which ranged in price from $9.95 to hundreds of dollars, my chances of survival were slim.

Each commercial made the skip-rope children sing louder. I was helpless in the face of hopelessness.

Then, suddenly, salvation arrived from an unlikely source. Jerry and .....

snip

http://www.amcity.com/louisville/stories/1999/12/20/editorial4.html

-- LOON (blooney10@aol.com), December 20, 1999

Answers

To paraphrase Dan Aykroyd, "What an ignorant slut that writer is". He won't be missed.

-- Steve Heller (stheller@koyote.com), December 20, 1999.

Pollies have only 11 days left to sneer at survivalists.

Enjoy it while you can, guys.

-- after that it won't (be@much.fun), December 20, 1999.

Ok---just for laughs and not to be mean!! (no not me)

Get an image of a Polly in your mind---a polly that has been overtly arrogant and obnoxious. got that image! alright now picture them panic stricken knocking feverishly on their neighbors door--jumping up and down-bug eyed as the helicopters and national guard are being deployed as the cold house they live in is unbearable and the Store hasnt any food. As they contemplate their intellectual postings on tb2000.

Now picture them after the new year if nothing has happened--look how smug they are in their pontificating pose of self-righteous hubris. See that cheshire cat smurk of "I told you so".

We will see wont we????

-- d----- (dciinc@aol.com), December 20, 1999.

Don't kid yourself that the pollys on this forum won't stock. They are way more clued than Joe Sixpack, and I'm certain that they'll crack at the last minute and try and buy, you know, just a little extra. You know, just in case.

And that's regardless of whatever brave, defiant, and utterly meaningless words they choose to type right now.

What I like to picture is shops with DWGI/DGI scanners to eject those who were clued but chose not to prepare (the DWGI pollys in this forum) so that those who geniunely didn't have the information to hand (Joe DGI Sixpack) can buy the last food on the shelves.

Sigh. It's a nice dream.

-- Servant (public_service@yahoo.com), December 20, 1999.

Of course the Pollies won't stock up! But come rollover they'll somehow find that over the last few months they must've eaten out when they planned to entertane guests at home and bought groceries accordingly. A buncha times.

As a result they "just happen" to have a couple of weeks worth of groceries in the cupboard that they never realized were there. But it's not the same as stockpiling, no, never.

WW

-- Wildweasel (vtmldm@epix.net), December 20, 1999.

pollies may get it sooner or later

But I bet a few will blame the bad things that happen on those that did prepare

blame, its a part of our culture.

people will get justice for the wrongs committed against them.

and if they can't get justice, they get revenge.

Don't be in a position to bear the blame.

-- hmmm (just@thought.tonight), December 22, 1999.