Fixed Docker Build

Ah yes, the classic expectation vs. reality of container deployment. In the cloud, your containers are neatly organized on massive infrastructure with redundancy and professional management. Meanwhile, on your poor overloaded Ubuntu laptop, it's just boxes crammed into a car that's one Docker command away from complete system collapse. That feeling when you've got 17 containers running and your fan sounds like it's preparing for liftoff. Your laptop isn't hosting containers—it's being held hostage by them. And yet we keep typing "docker-compose up" like memory is infinite and thermal throttling is just a myth.

Two people bond over their shared love of coding, but once you peek under the hood, it's a completely different tech stack civil war. One side's rocking Python, VS Code, Git, and Docker like a sensible human being. The other's got... whatever chaotic combination of Deep Learning frameworks, package managers, and tools that probably requires three different terminal windows just to compile "Hello World." It's the developer equivalent of saying "I love pizza" and then finding out one person means authentic Neapolitan margherita and the other means pineapple with ranch dressing. Sure, you both "love coding," but good luck pair programming without starting a holy war over tooling choices.

Ah, the classic corporate tech hostage situation. You're hired as a developer, yet somehow expected to code with nothing but Notepad and prayers. The IT department—those mystical gatekeepers of admin privileges—stand between you and basic functionality like Docker, VS Code, and PostgreSQL. Meanwhile, you're sitting there like a carpenter who's been handed a banana instead of a hammer, screaming internally "I HAVE TO HAVE MY TOOLS!!!" while submitting your 17th ticket to install npm. Nothing quite captures the absurdity of modern software development like needing permission to do the job they're paying you for. Fun fact: The average developer spends approximately 84 years of their career waiting for IT to approve software installations. I might have made that up, but it certainly feels true.

Oh honey, you sweet summer child recruiter. You think you're hiring ONE person? Bless your heart. You've basically listed the skill requirements for an entire Fortune 500 company's tech division and slapped "Full Stack Developer" on it like it's a cute little job title. Backend? Check. Frontend? Check. Three different databases because apparently one wasn't enough trauma? Check. The ENTIRE AWS ecosystem? Sure, why not! Oh and while we're at it, throw in system administration, containerization, orchestration, AND test-driven development because clearly this mythical unicorn developer has 47 hours in their day. The punchline hits different because it's TRUE. This isn't a job posting—it's a cry for help disguised as a LinkedIn post. They're not looking for a developer; they're looking for someone to BE the entire IT infrastructure while probably offering "competitive salary" (translation: $65k and unlimited coffee).

The hard truth nobody wants to admit. You stare at that YAML file for 20 minutes, counting indentation levels, trying to figure out which closing bracket matches which opening one, and questioning your life choices. Meanwhile, JSON just sits there with its clear structure and curly braces, judging you silently. But we keep using YAML because... reasons? Probably the same reasons we still use regex.

Docker gets real smug when someone says "works on my machine" because that's literally its entire pitch deck. The containerization messiah swoops in to save the day from environment inconsistencies, only to get absolutely humiliated when it realizes it also just "works on my machine." Turns out Docker didn't solve the problem—it just became the problem with extra steps and a YAML file. Now you've got Docker working perfectly on your laptop while your teammate's setup implodes because their WSL2 decided to have an existential crisis, or someone's running an M1 Mac and suddenly every image needs a different architecture. The irony is chef's kiss level: the tool designed to eliminate "works on my machine" syndrome becomes patient zero.