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The copilot delusion
Chapter 1: My Coworker, The Programmer A shell of a man—more of a parrot than a person. My boss, a true believer in the sacred rite of Pair Programming, chained myself and this "programmer"-colleague together like conjoined twins from different planets. We shared a keyboard, but not a
I was halfway through constructing something beautiful—a lean, elegant piece of logic that sliced through complexity like a blade through butter—and here he comes, pounding the keyboard like it owes him money, pasting in code he Frankensteined from a stack overflow comment written by an Uncle Bob disciple in 2014. Peel back the nice ergonomic type-safe, pure, lazy, immutable syntactic sugar and imagine the mess of assembly the compiler pukes up. We'll enshrine this current bloated, sluggish, over-abstracted hellscape as the pinnacle of software—and the idea of squeezing every last drop of performance out of a system, or building something lean and wild and precise, will sound like folklore.
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