I recently stopped by a fast-food restaurant to order lunch. The young man behind the counter smiled and asked, “Do you have our app?” I responded in the negative.

“Would you like to download it? You could save twenty-seven cents today.”

I considered this. Twenty-seven cents is not nothing. As someone who still gets mildly offended when a cashier doesn’t give me my pennies back, I appreciate a bargain. But I wasn’t willing to sacrifice another chunk of my phone’s remaining memory to achieve it.

My phone is already packed with apps. Hundreds of them. Okay, maybe not hundreds, but enough that finding anything has become an archaeological expedition. Every time I need an app, I have to scroll through screen after screen, asking myself questions like, “What is this? When did I download this? Why do I have three weather apps? Is this one important, or can I delete it?”

Most of the apps fall into one of four categories: Apps I use every day. Apps I use once a year. Apps that never work when I need them (usually promising a discount for something), and Apps I have absolutely no recollection of downloading. The last category is growing alarmingly fast. Sometimes I’ll stumble across an app and have no memory whatsoever of where it came from. Apparently, at some point in my life, I decided I needed an app that identifies birds by their songs. I don’t remember making this decision. I’ve never once stood in my backyard and thought, “That chirping sounds suspicious. I’d better investigate.” Yet there it sits.

Then there are the apps I downloaded because someone insisted I needed them. The airline app. The hotel app. The rental car app. The pharmacy app. The grocery store app. The coffee shop app. The restaurant app. The app that lets me access another app.

Everybody wants me to have their app. I fully expect my dentist to demand one next so I can receive emergency notifications when someone cancels a root canal appointment.

Even worse are the stores that make downloading the app sound like a life-changing opportunity. “You’ll get exclusive offers.” Exclusive offers? I’m buying socks, not joining a secret society. What exactly am I gaining access to? The hidden world of discounted tube socks? A password-protected section featuring rare photographs of management?

The other day, a cashier looked genuinely disappointed when I declined. “But it’s free.”

That’s what worries me. The app may be free, but eventually it starts asking questions. “Can we send notifications? Can we access your location? Can we track your shopping habits? Can we communicate with satellites orbiting the Earth?” Before long, the app knows more about me than some of my relatives.

Meanwhile, my phone is constantly reminding me that storage space is running low. Every photo I take is apparently pushing the device closer to complete collapse. I receive warnings that sound increasingly desperate. “Storage almost full. Storage is critically full. Seriously, lady, we’re doing the best we can.”

Yet businesses keep asking me to download more apps. The gas station wants an app. The movie theater wants an app. The pet store wants an app. The hardware store wants an app.

I have reached App Capacity. From now on, if your business requires an app to save thirty cents, earn points, access coupons, receive rewards, or unlock special pricing, I’m prepared to pay full price. I don’t need another app. I need an app to help me find the ones I already have.

The next time a cashier asks if I have their app, I’m going to ask if they have a paper punch card. At least when I lose those, I know where they went. They’re in the same place as my reading glasses, my car keys, and half the apps on my phone.

Tell me about your experience with apps. Are they helpful, or do they create more problems than they’re supposed to solve?