Thick Commit

OH MY GOD, the AUDACITY of someone suggesting I should actually FIX a bug on a FRIDAY?! 💅 Honey, please! That's what GitHub issues were INVENTED for! Why would I risk my precious weekend sanity when I can just slap that bug with an issue label, dramatically push it to the backlog, and strut away like the procrastination royalty I am? Monday-Me can deal with that nightmare - Friday-Me is already mentally at happy hour! #SorryNotSorry

Intelligence and programming knowledge are two entirely different beasts. Nothing quite says "senior developer" like Googling basic Git commands for the 500th time while your partner questions their life choices. The rubber duck is probably the smartest entity in this relationship. Fun fact: The average developer spends approximately 30% of their career pretending they understand what a pipe does. The other 70% is spent explaining to non-technical people that no, they can't hack Facebook.

The dev job market in four emotional stages: 1. Mild confidence : "I know 6 languages? That's decent, right?" 2. Excited overconfidence : "30 GitHub projects?! I'm basically a 10x developer at this point!" 3. Nuclear meltdown mode : *Frantically scrolling LinkedIn* "Wait, they want 12 years experience in a 5-year-old framework?!" 4. Existential despair : *Staring into the void* "10,000 applicants... one position... my resume is probably being used as digital scratch paper." The tech hiring funnel: where your impostor syndrome gets validated by actual numbers.

The evolution of our code is like Noah's bizarre coding ark. At the top, we've got the majestic StackOverflow elephant carrying us through deadlines, the documentation rabbit that nobody reads, GitHub's bear-minimum code contributions, the professor's penguin-perfect examples that never work in real life, your friend's crocodile code (dangerous but sometimes useful), and your actual code... just lying there, barely alive. Then suddenly—a miracle! That unholy chimera of copy-pasted snippets, caffeine-fueled 3AM hacks, and pure desperation somehow WORKS. The client stares at your Frankenstein's monster of code with the same bewilderment you have. Nobody knows how or why it runs, but it does, and we're all too afraid to refactor it.

So your teammate just pushed a week's worth of changes to the parent branch while you've been happily rebasing your feature branch for the past eight hours. Eight. Hours. That's basically a full workday of carefully resolving conflicts, rewriting commit history, and praying to the git gods that you don't accidentally nuke something important. Now all that work? Completely obsolete. You get to do it all over again because their changes are now in the base branch, which means fresh new merge conflicts are waiting for you like a surprise birthday party you never wanted. The rage is palpable, the suffering is real, and somewhere in the distance, your teammate is probably eating lunch without a care in the world. Pro tip: Always check if anyone's about to merge before starting a marathon rebase session. Or just use merge commits like a sane person. But where's the fun in that?

The five stages of grief, git edition. Starts with "Fixed bug" (4 files changed, clearly overthinking it). Then "Actually fixed bug" (2 files, getting more confident). By commit three it's "Fixed bug frfr no cap" because apparently we're peer-pressuring ourselves into believing our own lies. Then comes the manic "BUG FIXED!!!!" with just 1 file—either genius-level simplicity or complete delusion. Final commit: "it was not" (2 files). The makeup gets progressively more unhinged, which tracks perfectly with the mental state of someone who's been staring at the same bug for six hours. We've all been there. Ship it anyway.