This week, I will celebrate a milestone at my “real” job. It’s the 20th anniversary of my hire date. However, I worked for the company as a temp for a few months before my “official” start date, so it’s been slightly longer than 20 years by now. The official date inspires some recollecting, though.

One of the first things that comes to mind when I think about starting my job is that it was 1999. Obviously, I’d waited my entire 1980s teenage life to be able to “party like it’s 1999.” 1999 was also the year that we all expected life as we knew it to come to a crashing halt as the clock struck midnight and Y2K took effect. Now, we all know that was a great big fizzle, and we worried about a lot for nothing, but back then, it did put a bit of a damper on New Year’s Eve. As the low person on the totem pole, I drew the short straw and spent my holiday at work, expecting the worst. Working in an environment that depended heavily on technology, I was beyond relieved when the evening passed without incident.

I also remember thinking as we entered the year 2000, that we were getting closer to the years the movies promised us, like “2001: A Space Odyssey” and “Back to the Future II.” Here we are in 2019, and sure, science has made some incredible discoveries in outer space, and right here on our own planet, but my car still doesn’t fly and I’m quite literally living in the same house I was in 1999. Alexa can be helpful, but she’s a far cry from the Jetsons’ Rosie. To be fair, we have a few more years before we catch up to the Jetsons in 2062, so maybe by then Alexa will sprout some arms and legs, or wheels.

Back in 1999, thanks to my job, I acquired my first pager. Also known as the beeper, this little device was revolutionary. People could call this device, input their number, and you would know that they wanted to talk to you. Or, your co-workers would prank you and you’d find yourself calling McDonald’s at 11 p.m. I’ve found myself trying to explain this phenomenon to my children over and over again, and they just can’t understand why someone wouldn’t just call your cellphone. At least I’m spared the indignity of saying something like, “because they weren’t invented yet,” and sound like a complete dinosaur. Cellphones were invented, you just needed a suitcase to carry them around, and you had service in about three places in the county.

I tried to remember when I got my first cellphone, and I really can’t. I do know that I had one by 2003, because I distinctly remember exchanging phone numbers with the future Wonderful Husband, and I gave him my cell, and he gave me his landline. One of the first things we ever bought “together” was his cellphone, which we put on my existing plan, because it was cheaper. Entering into a cellphone contract at that time was probably more of a commitment than our actual marriage.

Twenty years ago, I was driving my first self-purchased car, a 1995 Plymouth Neon. Remember that ad campaign? “Hi!” I spent the first two years of car ownership feeling obligated to greet every other Neon I encountered with a “Hi!” Sadly, Penelope, as I called her, met her end at the hands of a drunken driver, at 4 p.m. on a Saturday afternoon on East Broad Street in Tamaqua. Thankfully, I walked away from that with literally one scratch on my hand, but I was determined to buy a “real” vehicle after that, and so I acquired my Jeep Cherokee, affectionately known as Sylvia.

Sylvia and I had many adventures, from road trips with friends, to driving most of my bridal party to the beauty salon on the morning of my wedding, we did it all. Several years later, I would get a phone call, as I attended my work Christmas party, that Sylvia’s final contribution to my life was keeping the boys and the Wonderful Husband safe when a driver next to them hit black ice and lost control of her vehicle. What I remember most about that night was being surrounded by my work family when I got that call, and how two of our dearest friends, one who also happens to be work family, left the party to rush to the scene of the accident with me.

Twenty years ago, I met the other people that would become my work family. One of the true blessings of having a job for 20 years is that you really do become a family. The support I’ve received from my co-workers over the years doesn’t only affect me. Just last week, several of my co-workers showed up to see A participate in the drama club play. Many more have stopped me at football games to tell me they saw the boys in the band. And, it goes the other way, too. One of my favorite work “offspring” sends me her term papers to proofread.

Over the years, we’ve attended each other’s graduation and anniversary parties, celebrated new babies, supported each other as we’ve lost parents and other family members, and maybe a little enviously, attended retirement parties. Facebook has allowed many of us to stay in touch, even after retirement, or moving on to another job. The people you spend at least eight hours a day with do become a part of your life that doesn’t go away when your shift is over.

I’m certainly lucky to have maintained this community for over 20 years. These days, not a lot of people can say that they’ve worked somewhere for that long. Where will the next 20 years take me? Will I still be working here? I’m going to hope not, as I hope to be retired by then. Will my car be flying? Also, probably not. I am sure my iPhone 100+ will have many more features, and even if Alexa hasn’t graduated to making dinner and cleaning the house, at least I’ll be able to ask her to order takeout. If the 20- and 30-something-year old kids are still living in my basement, at the very least they’re going to be providing housekeeping services. More than likely, I’ll be missing them as they move on to the next adventures in their lives, and I will have a very empty, and clean, house.

They say time flies when you’re having fun. If that’s the case, these past 20 years sure have been fun, because they’ve gone in the blink of an eye.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.