The excitement was unreal.

When I was first hired by the Sun Journal back in the olden days of 1994, I went on an extravagant shopping spree. You know: high tech stuff. A Rolodex with colored tabs separating the letters for easy scrolling. A notebook divided into not two, not three, but FOUR sections, so that the pages could be organized by topic.

I bought boxes of pens with innovative “ball points,” an organizer with a square of space for every single day of the year, and a newfangled gadget which — you’re going to think I’m making this up — could record entire conversations and then play those conversations back at a future time!

Excessive, you say? An over-indulgence in journalistic wizardry? An unfair advantage over the rest of the reporting community, who relied on archaic things like pencils and one-subject notebooks?

Perhaps. But you must understand that this was my first real job. It was the first occupation I’d had which didn’t involve me a) asking random strangers if they wanted regular or unleaded gasoline b) holding pieces of lumber so that somebody else could cut them or c) asking random strangers whether or not they wanted salt pork on their hot dogs.

So I went nuts, indulging in an orgiastic display of journalistic gluttony. Which stings a little at first, but you get used to it.

Among the things I bought at Barry’s Orgiastic Office Supply Emporium were file folders — miles and miles of file folders — with handy tabs upon which could be scribbled a word, or even several words, describing the contents. I know! It’s crazy!

I used those file folders faithfully for many years, filling them with stories I patiently cut out of the paper with a pair of “scissors,” which is what we used back in that time, before lasers and telepathic cutting had been invented.

Into these folders went court documents obtained from — you probably saw this coming — the courts; notes I had written with my ballpoint pen; photographs taken by professional photographers who carried cameras bigger than their cars; letters received from sources, most of whom were in prison; and even things like matchbooks or bar coasters on which I had scribbled important data such as phone numbers and bust sizes.

I haven’t thought of those old folders for many years, having switched to more advanced filing systems such as Evernote, Dropbox or hoping my wife would remember things that I surely wouldn’t. I didn’t think of them at all until one recent night, when a colleague asked if he could have one of my file folders.

“Ha ha ha!” I said to this request. “A file folder! What, is it 1994 or something?”

But then, because I try to be a helpful sort, I pulled open my file drawers, which went CREEEEEEEE as they slid free and several bats flew out in a storm of ancient dust. Imagine my surprise when I discovered, Indiana Jones-style, that many of my old files still exist in their original form. I mean, I had no idea. I thought those drawers contained old liquor bottles and perhaps spare shoes and underpants.

Here then, is a very small (because I WAY overwrote the early half of this column) sample of what those dusty old folders revealed.

EXOTIC DANCING: Yup. For reals. Apparently this was a real thing back in the decadent ’90s. I have before me a folder containing several yellowing news clips with headlines such as “Twin Cities Wrestle with the Business of Exotic Dancing,” with gripping narrative on the matter of “nudity and near-nudity as a form of commercial entertainment.” Seriously, there used to be such a thing as “near nudity” in these parts. And our city leaders mulled them at length, as several sheets containing city council minutes attest:

“The councilors retired to executive session, where they viewed six hours worth of video of ladies with names like Sasha, Athena and Angel as part of their research. The councilors then abruptly ended the meeting so they could go outside and smoke.”

It’s possible I’m making that last part up, but the rest of it is as real as the pasties on your flesh.

CHALET MOTEL: Here’s a folder I started after scandal rocked the Lisbon Street motel, which I had often stayed at because my regular apartment was a total dump that scared potential dates. In this folder are several sheets of negatives, which I found alarming since the scandal in question involved the motel owner getting busted after taking pictures of teenage girls and then trying to have them developed at the new upstart business, Rite-Aid. Fortunately, the negatives in my folder only reveal images of boring court proceedings and a wide shot of the motel itself.

ECSTASY: I had high hopes for this particular folder, but no. It contains work sheets, court records and other information about the drug Ecstasy, which was poised to become a problem here. It doesn’t contain any actual samples (as far as you can prove) of the drug most known for making people highly amorous. P.S. I love you all and would like to roll around on your carpets while listening to the Moody Blues.

COCAINE 1994. This is a slim folder with information about the criminal use of the drug. At this point, it doesn’t appear to be a pervasive problem.

COCAINE 1994 — PRESENT: This folder is six-feet thick and includes the names, street names and photographs of thousands of local people who were caught doing stupid things with or while under the influence of crack cocaine. The folder itself is littered with the phone numbers of potential sources in Lewiston’s drug underground. Unfortunately, they were never much help to me inasmuch as crack addicts aren’t very good at paying their phone bills.

COUNTY COMMISSION: Clearly this is a folder that I inherited when I took the job and to which I never added a single thing. When I opened the folder, I found that the documents inside had turned to dust. Either that, or this is where I had been keeping my Ecstasy.

OCCULT: This is a fairly thick folder, which surprises me because I didn’t know we had much occult action in the Twin Cities. Sadly, I can’t view the documents. To do that, I have to draw weird symbols on a barn floor, burn graveyard moss and soak the file folder in blood of a newt. Damned if I can find any newt blood around here. I haven’t seen any of that stuff since Barry’s went under.

UFOs: This was a scant folder until one night in 1998 (I think) when hundreds of local residents reported seeing weird lights in the sky, followed by thunderous booms of what sounded like spacecraft engines. Most of the information contained here involves my many elaborate schemes to milk this story as long as I possibly could.

AGRICULTURE ISSUES: Sounds boring, doesn’t it? Fool! This is the folder I kept to hide dirt I’d obtained on several important figures in our community. At one time, it included Polaroid photographs and hastily scribbled notes detailing various misdeeds that I had unearthed about key players in the Lewiston-Auburn area. Sadly, I misplaced all of that information. Don’t worry, you weren’t in my folder. Probably.

MISSING PERSONS: Persons who were, at one time, missing.

DOGS: Information about dogs. Cats not allowed.

ROAD PROJECTS: Contains sheets of paper with various doodles I sketched while sitting through a Highway Department meeting or something where they were talking about putting in a bridge somewhere. Hey look! This one is a chicken smoking a pipe!

MASSAGE PARLORS: Like exotic dancing, this used to be a thing in Lewiston. Turns out these parlors were offering a little more than simple massage, if you get my drift. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

TOP SECRET: I can’t tell you what is in this folder and I think you know why.

I have many other folders to share with you, but now I’m out of space. Not, by God, that the editors would dare to cut a veteran reporter such as myself off in the middle of a compelling report such as

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