I Got Off My Parents’ Cell Phone Plan And So Can You

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You know, the lack of flying cars and self-tying shoes aside, we’re living in a pretty tremendous future. Sure, we don’t have Rosie the Robot from “The Jetsons” cooking our meals, nor do we have warp drive so we can travel farther than our own moon, but we have some pretty cool shit here on Earth, don’t you agree? We have devices in our pockets that are more powerful than the computer that made the fucking moon landing. We grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, when technology exponentially grew from giant computers with tiny screens that could barely process a word document. Now, we have paper-thin devices capable of producing beautiful, crystal-clear, streaming video to entertain us while we’re taking a shit. What an age we live in.

Unfortunately for our generation, this technology has been brought to you by the First National Bank of Mom and Dad, who have been quietly and dutifully paying for your phone and data plan so you can use your devices to mindlessly like posts on Facebook and Instagram, Snapchat pictures of your junk to potential paramours, and, of course, play 2048. You probably got your phone around middle school “FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY,” which you used for anything but, then you probably got your first smartphone in high school, and you’ve been on the two-year iPhone cycle ever since. Now that you’re out of college and working on your own, the question becomes: “When the hell should you get off your family cell phone plan?”

The issue is this. When do you unburden yourself from your parents? Or at what point is it appropriate for them to cut you off? It’s kind of an unprecedented conversation for parents and kids to have, but one that needs to happen. You can’t be pushing 30 and have your parents still pay for your cell phone. That’s embarrassing as hell. Nobody wants that.

Well, guess what? I DID IT. I CUT THE DAMN TELEPHONE CORD. Not that telephones have cords anymore, but you know what I mean. I did it. I am an adult. I rolled up into my parents’ house in my 2007 Toyota RAV4, told them I was through being their puppet, threw my phone at my dad, slapped my testicles down on the table, picked up a boom box blasting Aloe Blacc’s “The Man,” and strutted out of that motherfucker, without zipping up my pants.

Okay, maybe I exaggerated all of that. Except for the 2007 RAV4. I still drive that. But I did tell my parents that I was off the plan. They were kind of shocked at first, honestly. They must have asked me, “Are you sure?” about a thousand times. I laid out a detailed plan with them about how I can pay for it myself without completely going bankrupt, and then we all went down to the magical cell phone store and took care of it together. Afterward, they took me out to dinner and drove me back to my apartment because they’re good people. What? I’m trying to be independent, but I’m not made of stone.

Is this maybe not as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be? Perhaps. It’s not like I paid off my mortgage; hell, I don’t even have a mortgage. I spend all my money on rent. I don’t have car payments to worry about. I think they’re even giving ME money at this point, considering I got the thing back when Toyotas were suddenly accelerating into walls. That actually happened to me once, true story. I’m not making it rain and buying fancy shit like jet skis or extra guac on my Quesarito.

But it was a major, major step to complete financial independence from my parents. I cut the cord! I’m a badass motherfucker, financially speaking. Nobody can touch me! Except for the bank. And the credit card companies. And having to pay into my employer benefits plan. And my crippling guacamole addiction. But screw it, I’m an adult. If you want to be a badass like me, cut the cell phone cord. You’ll be glad you did.

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