In 1999 I worked as a contractor for the Defense Information Systems Agency (DISA) in Arizona. In July of that year, I quit because we decided to move to my partner’s home-country - Australia.

The idea was to buy a car, drive up to the tourist area of tropical Cairns (pronounced “cans”) and get touristy jobs with our increasingly rusty Japanese. We managed to get there, but the jobs were not forthcoming. We were down to our last thousand dollars when I got an email from my former employers at DISA asking if I wanted to work a 4-6 month gig in Japan. They needed a “Y2K consultant” who could speak Japanese and had the proper clearances. I had no previous experience as a Y2K consultant- I’m not a Cobol programmer- but money was getting thin so I jumped at it. My partner went back to Southern Queensland (Brisbane area) to set up house- and I flew directly out of Cairns to Tokyo. I had no idea what I was getting into.

Cairns, Australia 1999

I had well and truly left the defense contractor mindset. In Cairns, I was working on growing my hair and my tan- so to be thrust back into an environment of buzz cuts and snappy salutes was quite a shock. They put me up in a cushy hotel off base and I walked in every morning. The base was like a little American city in the heart of Japan. There were houses with neatly mowed lawns and American cars. They had a Taco Bell, Burger King and a US style supermarket. It was a very strange experience to make that transition from Japan to small town America just by walking across a line.

The ponytail had to go. I was working for a hard ass Major who frowned on the hippy look.

Because of its position with the international dateline- Japan would be one of the first countries to experience Y2K. All eyes would be on the military forces working here to see how they’d fare after the clock ticked over.

My role was to be an interface between United States Forces Japan (USFJ) and the Japan Self Defense Force (JSDF) for all things Y2K. We would have joint meetings between high-ranking military brass- and my job was to facilitate these meetings and interpret/translate where necessary. No one on the American side spoke Japanese-, which was a very good thing because my Japanese was completely ill-suited for these meetings. I learnedJapanese from working for my shady Yakuza boss — and street urchin girlfriend.

The Major would say “ask them if the PDQ system has an interface for running the diagnostic compliance script” and I would turn to these stone faced Japanese Majors and Colonels with their crisp green uniforms and say the equivalent of this in Japanese:

“Yo dude, my man wants to know if the PDQ system has a ferret for running cow bladders — can you dig it?”

Amazingly, the meetings worked out pretty well. The US military was astounded by my Japanese skills and offered me a permanent position. I turned them down, because we were planning on putting down roots in Australia — but I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I took that fork in the road.

On Y2K eve, at around 10 PM, we were all clustered in an underground control room deep below the surface of the base. There was tension in the air. There were big screens on the wall showing maps and contact points for the transition. About 20 technicians were at their terminals making contact with other far flung points around the globe — sending and receiving status reports by the minute.

We weren’t the first military base to go into the great Y2K beyond. There were US outposts in the South Pacific that would go first, at 11PM our time. They were the real canaries in the coal mine. As all the US and Japanese military brass stood around with Styrofoam coffee cups in their hands — there was an actual countdown on the big screen. The tension was palpable. The communications officer in Tonga was live on the speaker describing their status. With 10 seconds to go, a hush fell on the control room. When the big counter on the screen hit zero, it changed colors to red and started counting up the seconds. There was a pause. I could tell everyone was holding their breath — waiting to hear from the brave chrononauts on the line in Tonga who had just passed through to the other side. An audible hiss from the phone loud speaker was the only noise.

And then -

“We’re still here!” came a tinny relieved voice over the line. There were no Apolloesque hugs and back slaps- but there was an audible exhalation from all the military brass in the room.

The rest of the night was fairly anti-climactic. Our midnight came and went. Systems were checked and double-checked. Hands were shook, bows and salutes were proffered to the JDF functionaries present. Akemashite Omedetou Gozaimasu.

I walked back to my hotel about 3 AM. The sake bars and Izakayas around my hotel were all quiet. The New Year is more of a solemn celebration in Japan. Gods were to be thanked for the fortune of the last year and beseeched for continued good luck in the year to come. The shrines would be very busy when the sun came up.

My contract was supposed to last another 3 months after the New Year for “follow-up” — remedying of all of the issues that came up as a result of the Y2K crisis.

3 days into the New Year, we realized there was nothing to do. Not a single problem reported. There was something in the news about an ATM in Italy that was randomly spitting out money — but that seemed like faulty hardware, or a disgruntled Cobol programmer. I was finding it more and more difficult to look busy. I had a meeting with The Major at the end of the week and he quickly realized that I was idle.

“Good thing we spent all that effort preparing for Y2K — it was a complete success.” I told the Major with a nervous chuckle. He just scowled at me and snorted. That was my last meeting. I was on a plane back to Australia by the end of the week — my contract terminated 3 months early.