Git After Rust

The evolution of commit messages is the programmer's descent into madness. First panel: "Bugfix" - the bare minimum effort when you just want to go home. Second panel: "102: Fixed double-jump" - slightly better, at least there's a ticket number. Third panel: "fix: double-jump bug in PlayerController; resolves issue #102" - the brief moment of professionalism when you think someone might actually read your commits. Fourth panel: "Lots of changes lol; Fixed low key sus double-jump yeeting players off map; also fire refactor of all movement physics fr" - the complete breakdown where you're mixing conventional commits with stream-of-consciousness ramblings and Gen Z slang. This is what happens at 3 AM when you've been debugging the same issue since yesterday and your brain is running on energy drinks and spite.

The GitHub contribution graph—where darker green means you're a coding machine and lighter green means you occasionally remember your password. The interviewer is confused because this guy's squares are dark green (meaning tons of commits) but somehow he has "less contributions." Plot twist: he's just really good at squashing 47 panicked debug commits into one elegant pull request. His smug "I got it right the first time" response is the programming equivalent of claiming you've never googled "how to center a div" or "what does NaN mean again?"

Signing up for GitHub before learning Git is like being handed a weapon you have no idea how to operate. You're just standing there with this powerful tool, completely clueless about commits, branches, or pull requests. Meanwhile, seasoned devs are watching you fumble around the interface wondering why you can't just "upload" your code directly. The classic rookie move of thinking GitHub = Git, only to discover there's this whole command line beast you need to tame first!

Fixed a typo in the docs? Congratulations, your GitHub profile now says "contributr" and your stonks are through the roof. The bare minimum effort yielding maximum self-satisfaction is the cornerstone of modern software development. Nothing says "I'm technically a maintainer now" quite like changing 'teh' to 'the' in paragraph 17.

Nothing quite like that moment when you realize your innocent little Git commit just wiped out three weeks of work across seventeen branches. Sure, Git is supposed to save us from ourselves, but sometimes it just gives us a bigger shovel to dig our own graves. The best part? That split second where you're frantically Googling "how to undo git push force" while your team's Slack channel lights up like a Christmas tree.

The code review terror is real. That moment when your PR meets the unforgiving gaze of a senior dev who's seen it all—including every mistake you're about to make. You're just huddled in the corner, clutching your keyboard, wondering if your variable naming conventions are about to trigger another 45-minute lecture on "the right way to code." Meanwhile, the senior dev looms like a terrifying mechanical overlord, ready to dismantle your self-esteem function by function. Six months of experience vs six years of accumulated cynicism isn't even a fair fight.