Dave
Everyone at work thinks Dave’s just one of those Linux guys. You know the type - keyboard with no markings, thinks mice are for the weak, answers tickets in vim. Uses i3 because “tiling is efficient,” drinks instant coffee with the same dead eyes he’s had since ‘96.
But Dave’s not running Linux. That’s just the cover.
Underneath, it’s AROS. An Amiga. In a full-screen QEMU session, booted from a USB stick taped to the inside of his ThinkPad. Ubuntu’s just the launchpad. The real OS is a fossil he’s lovingly resurrected with duct tape, hex editors, and pure spite.
Everyone assumes his terminal obsession is just hardcore DevOps swagger. No - it’s AmigaShell. The commands are weird, half of them don’t work, and the help system is a bad joke. But Dave doesn’t care. Dave doesn’t need help. He wrote intros in 68000 assembler on paper.
Sometimes someone walks by and asks, “What’s that editor?”
“Cinnamon Writer,” he mumbles.
“Oh cool, never heard of it - must be some minimalist fork.”
“Yeah,” Dave says, and smiles like a man who’s buried comrades.
He’s got a whole setup for pretending. A fake GNOME screenshot he Alt-Tabs to. A bash alias called teams that launches a screenshot of a Teams window in feh. He “can’t share his screen” because of “Wayland issues.” IT gave up years ago.
You don’t understand how deep it goes. He formats USB sticks in Amiga FFS. He keeps a second mouse in his bag - one with two buttons - “for emergencies.” His browser? Odyssey. It last updated when Gordon Brown was Prime Minister.
And yet... everything somehow works. Slowly. Painfully. Like dragging a corpse uphill. But it works.
Dave says he likes the “workflow.” What he means is: he never moved on. He’s running shell scripts older than some of the interns, on an OS no one can patch, on hardware that actively resists reality.
And Dave never really came back from Assembly ‘94.