A week ago I finally succumbed to the weight of generational peer pressure. That’s right, I got Netflix. Admittedly I was late to the game, I’m a cheap dude. Eventually, the allure of the free first month was too much for me to handle. I had been fighting a losing battle against this evil temptress longer than I knew. I hadn’t researched the service enough prior to my subscription. It was like visiting Miami and not packing any white clothes, I was unprepared.
Day one began harmlessly enough; a simple user interface awaited me. If the topic of this article couldn’t be more cliché, my first viewing choice will seal the deal. I chose to binge watch The Walking Dead. That six episode first season didn’t stand a chance, and it was dispatched quickly. Honestly, I didn’t expect the ease at which I could binge watch these shows. By 3 o’clock I was wondering why I hadn’t taken a shower yet. My curiosity was soon forgotten as the next episode loaded. That damn countdown is like a procrastination time bomb. If you don’t close out the window in 15 seconds, you just committed to not doing anything for 43 more minutes.
I don’t know why I chose to watch The Walking Dead. I suppose I said to myself “15 million people can’t be wrong every week.” That line of thinking wasn’t a logically sound one — many people can be wrong every week, it happens all the time. The show isn’t bad (I’d even say it is good), but it doesn’t warrant the entire population of Illinois watching it.
By day two, the metaphorical hook had sunk into me, I was well on my way to becoming a maniacal Walking Dead/Netflix fanatic. Every drug gets cut with something, so I cut my viewing of The Walking Dead with episodes of Louie. I love Louis CK, this was a great choice. The episodes are only about 22 minutes so I can watch a lot of them without feeling like a total failure of a human being.
The middle of the week was fairly normal; I had class Tuesday and Thursday so my binge watching was severely cut down. Despite only having Netflix for 48 hours, the Sun had already become a distant memory — like that weird guy Mark who used to hang out at Little League games when I was a kid. Anyway, I knew I would make up for it over the weekend.
When Friday came around, I was fully prepared to immerse myself in the world of Netflix. Going into the weekend I had three episodes left in Season 2 of Dead. What happened next would forever alter my perception of myself. I ended up watching 11 episodes of the damn show in one day. That isn’t a humble brag illustrating my dedication; don’t get confused, it is a serious cry for help. As I write this, it is Monday and I am halfway through Season 4. For those of you keeping score at home, that adds up to 27 episodes watched since Friday. At 43 minutes apiece, that comes out to 19 hours and 35 minutes devoted to Netflix.
As I emerge from my cave I am a changed man. I have neglected my appearance, my hygiene, my diet, and my well being in order to further the stereotype of our generation. I did this in the name of science. I was one or two days away from turning into Howard Hughes. Long finger nails, peeing in bottles, scraggly beard, and Alec Baldwin whispering outside my door. But now, as I head to school tomorrow all of that changes, no one will ever know just how bad it got this weekend, I’m lucky to have made it out with my sanity intact. Good luck my friends, stay strong, we will overcome.