From August 2011 to September 2013, I lived without an internet connection. It seems barbaric, I know. But it actually transcends barbarism and becomes puzzling when you realize that the bulk of my income came from writing for the internet.

I was a few years out from graduating college with a useless degree (don't go to art school, kids) and I was working at a major retail chain to help pay the bills. My employer will remain nameless, but let's just say that my closet was full of red and khaki. My hours were steadily vanishing and the pay was laughable but the level of abuse I suffered on a daily basis did adequately prepare me for the soul-chafing world of freelance writing, so I'll call my time there well-spent.

Most of my money came from contributing to a handful of entertainment and culture websites, but that money went to the rent. And to food. And to curing the cat's ear infection. Soon, my plan to get that internet hook-up stopped being the thing I'd get around to next week, and became something distant and mystical and unknowable, like a relic from a fantasy story or health insurance. With my work at rhymes-with-Schmarget drying up, I became a wandering freelancer, a nomad who spent his days in search of Wi-Fi.

If you find yourself considering a life of no internet and have come here looking for helpful tips, let me start with this: don't. Just stop buying so many goddamn video games and purchase some internet, you effing sociopath. What's wrong with you? But here's my advice.

First of all, never go work at Starbucks. Table real estate at Starbucks is a valuable commodity and if you borrow a table for more than a few hours, you'll have to start dealing with the barista death glares and let me tell you, barista death glares are the worst. If coffee shops are your thing, go local. Find a place with big squishy couches where the employees are perpetually stoned and happy to see you.

No place welcomes cheapskates quite like the Golden Arches.

If you want a potential workplace on every corner that won't overcharge you for mediocre coffee, do yourself a favor and map out your local McDonald's restaurants/Sadness Depots. For whatever reason, the six McDonald's I rotated between during my nomad years had fast, powerful Wi-Fi and there was always enough seating to accommodate everyone. Plus, the mediocre coffee is dirt cheap and the refills are free. No place welcomes cheapskates quite like the Golden Arches.

McDonald's is also staffed by people who genuinely don't care about you squatting in their establishment because they're not being paid enough to care about you. If you do want to venture out to something more upscale, tread cautiously. Order first. Don't give the manager an opportunity to corner you and ask what you're doing. And this is vital: pull out your laptop and check the Wi-Fi from the parking lot before you go inside. There is no worse feeling than picking a place to work, settling in, ordering something to give the illusion that you're there for a legitimate reason and then realizing that the Wi-Fi is down.

Plus, knowing which places have Wi-Fi strong enough to give you speedy access from the parking lot is handy knowledge for those slow weeks where every penny counts and you can't afford to order the cheapest thing on the menu. Pro-tip: write from the passenger seat, where the steering wheel can't hinder your progress.

I was actually in a fortunate situation for someone without internet access. The apartment office located thirty seconds away from my small-but-comfortable one bedroom place had a lounge with tables, chairs and snacks intended for potential applicants. This room soon became my home away from home, where I conducted my business, befriended the people who collected my checks and hoarded the free muffins and cookies to help me through the rough patches.

When the weather was nice, I could go work poolside, where the Wi-Fi was a little weaker but still reasonably good. Of course, this meant having to deal with people swimming and laughing and having a good time in my workspace, but what can I say? People are selfish monsters.

On days when the office was closed, I would wander the complex, searching for unprotected internet. If I was lucky, I would find a connection close to a shady tree or even a picnic table. Other times, I would have to sit on a concrete curb like some kind of animal.

The world was my Wi-Fi!

And you know what? It wasn't that bad. Here I was, spending eight hours a day writing movie reviews and coverage of local events in the sun. I could feel the breeze on my face. I met interesting people. When lunchtime rolled around, I'd pick one of my favorite local hotspots and take a little stroll. Since I was always on the hunt for new places to work, I got to know my neighborhood and my city. I was free to hit up my local haunts, monitoring my email and getting back to work when duty called. When friends came over and asked me what my Wi-Fi password was, I would laugh in their faces and declare that I didn't need their precious Wi-Fi! The world was my Wi-Fi!

I didn't have many friends.

But things changed. My complex came under new management and the new employees weren't cool with people abusing the muffin privileges. I was given additional responsibilities at one of my outlets and my lackadaisical approach to work stopped being so effective. I would have to jump online within a moment's notice, which meant frantic drives to the closest McDonald's at all hours of the night. When things were especially hectic, I would run outside in the pouring rain to stand outside the apartment office and leech their Wi-Fi, only to learn that they had put a password on their router.

The lowest point came when I learned that a spotty connection earlier in the day had led to an unedited and unfinished version of a massive article getting published. Fearing for my job, I frantically ran around my complex, searching for Wi-Fi. Any Wi-Fi. I wasn't even halfway done when the security guard approached and told me that I was out past the complex's curfew. I explained my predicament. He didn't care. I asked him for 15 more minutes. He threatened to call the police.

I thought about making a stand. No one was going to stand between me and fixing this ranking of every single Marvel superhero movie released as of 2013. No one! But then self-awareness kicked in. It was after midnight and I was standing in a parking lot yelling at a glorified mall cop. I apologized, got in my car, and finished my article elsewhere.

My home internet-free lifestyle had officially stopped being the first half of Boogie Nights and had started being the second half of Boogie Nights.

Side jobs came and went. Outlets hired me and outlets let me go. When the man with the four kids asked to have my booth at McDonald's, I gave it up without a fight. The glory days were over.

These days, I live with my fiancee and we split the cost of the internet connection and everything is great. My job has gotten easier. My writing has gotten better. And yet there are days where I find myself working from the bedroom until the afternoon, seeing no reason to get out of bed. There are days when I'll only see daylight when I take the dog out to do his business. My career has never been better, but I miss that rush of the old days, where I had to rise bright and early and face the world in order to write.

Working for the internet without internet made me a more adventurous person and a better writer. It made every day into an odyssey. It also nearly drove me to madness and I can't recommend it to anyone. Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be freelancers.

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