I was out the other night with a dying phone, when all of the sudden I felt a vibration in my left pocket around 11 pm. Debating whether I should waste my precious battery to check my phone, I realized I obviously was going to. I mean…its 11 o’clock: I’m not gonna not check who texted me at this drunken point in the night.
Was it a booty call? Nope. Was it my boy asking for a late night Mick Dick’s run? Nope. It’s the Verizon Wireless automated message informing me I have used 75% of my monthly data. Give.Me.A.Fucking.Break. I’m only a week and a half into the month and I’ve already used more than half of my internet. Problems like this should have been fixed in 2009.
Please, Verizon, inform me what I do that takes up all this data. Is it the steady refreshing of Snap Chat stories at work, or the consistent double taps of the girls who are “10 worthy”?
Don’t get me wrong though, data is essential. It’s what allows me to get U.S Open updates during dance recitals. It’s what lets me follow a rare Red Sox come back during my brother’s graduation, and most importantly: data grants sorority girls around the country the rights to never miss a tweet, Instagram, or Facebook status.
My addiction to data aligns side by side with a 20-year-olds relationship to alcohol. It’s abusive. It’s essential. I can’t picture my life without my good friend Captain Mo…I mean the 5 GB of cell data I’m blessed with from above.
The 25th of each month hits, and my data has most likely 90% abandoned me. My monthly bill renews the 12th, which usually leaves me around three weeks of protecting data like I want men and women to defend our country.
So please, Mr. Verizon, all I ask is to not make my texts green at the end of each month. Allow me to geo-tag my naturally beautiful town, or filter my Instagram that may or may not get 100 likes. Permit me to refresh my ESPN app after every at bat, or open messages from that over active kid in every group me.
Good luck, all you data savages. May the odds of universal Wi-Fi be in your favor.