The man. The myth. The guy who Reply-All'd the entire company about his lunch order.
Artist's rendition based on eyewitness accounts and security footage
"Senior" IT Support. Keyboard Hoarder. Grill Arsonist.
CLASSIFICATION: ROAST LEVEL OMEGA
Results of extensive field observation. No skills were harmed in this evaluation. Some were never found.
"Can fix a printer. Cannot fix his hairline. Once spent 3 hours debugging a computer. The monitor was off."
"Has never produced food that wasn't at least 40% carbon. The fire department has his address saved as a favorite."
"Cargo shorts: because you never know when you'll need 11 pockets. Crocs with socks: a hate crime against eyeballs."
"Would rather talk to Siri than actual humans. Tried to explain blockchain on a date. She left during appetizers."
"12 years. Zero trophies. Infinite excuses. Made a spreadsheet to analyze why he keeps losing. The spreadsheet also lost."
"In bed by 9:30. Calls it 'optimizing sleep cycles.' Living the dream. Or rather, just sleeping through everyone else's."
A field guide to decoding Dave
7 keyboards. 3 hand-built. 1 deeply concerned wife. Zero regrets.
His first love. So loud the neighbors filed a noise complaint. Dave considers this a compliment.
OG // 2016Hand-built. RGB set to "ocean wave." Dave spent more time on the LED profile than on his wedding vows.
HAND-BUILT // 2019The "gaming" keyboard. Dave's K/D ratio hasn't improved, but the aesthetics are fire (unlike his BBQ skills).
HAND-BUILT // 2021The "premium" board. Costs more than the family microwave. Linda still hasn't been told the real price.
THE PRICEY ONE // 2022The "office" board. Brought it to work. Karen asked him to bring it back home. He brought a different one instead.
OFFICE EXILE // 2023The one that makes him feel like a hacker. Types at 40 WPM. Looks like he's defusing a bomb. Craig is jealous.
HAND-BUILT // 2024The "silent" one he uses after 9:30 PM so he doesn't wake himself up. The most expensive alarm clock alternative in history.
LATEST ACQUISITION // 2025A dramatic reconstruction of the Neighborhood Cookout of 2024. No burgers survived.
Testimonials collected under oath. Some under duress. All under the influence of Dave.
I married him for his sense of humor. I stay for the health insurance. Just kidding. Mostly. The man once made a spreadsheet to decide where to take me for our anniversary. Column C was labeled 'Proximity to Micro Center.' I love him anyway. Someone has to.
Our podcast may only have 4 listeners, but they're VERY engaged. Hi Mom. Hi Linda. Hi my dentist who I accidentally guilt-tripped into subscribing. The fourth one might be a bot, but we count it. Dave handles the tech. I handle the talent. We both handle the disappointment.
Dad still thinks clearing browser history deletes everything. Adorable. He also once asked me to help him set up his phone's fingerprint scanner. I'm 12. He's been in IT for longer than I've been alive. I love him, but I've accepted that I'll be his tech support for the rest of his life.
Dad made a spreadsheet to plan my birthday party. It had 47 rows. There was a Gantt chart. He color-coded the balloon budget. It was a pool party for 8 kids. He also brought his laptop to the party. To "monitor the schedule." I'm 9 and even I know that's too much.
Dave is an incredible asset to our IT team. Please don't tell him I said that, his ego can't handle it. But between us, I've had to explain to him 47 times that 'Reply All' is not always necessary. Last month he Reply-All'd the entire company his grocery list. It included 'fancy mustard.' HR got involved.
After 12 years of Dave's "fixes," I identify as a fax machine now. He's jammed me, cursed at me, hit me (the top, always the top), and once tried to "update my drivers" which resulted in me printing 400 pages of gibberish. I was a LaserJet Pro once. I had dreams. Now I just have PTSD.
I listen to their podcast every week. I don't understand any of it. Something about "keycaps" and "thocky sounds"? Last week they spent 45 minutes arguing about whether Cherry MX Browns are "tactile enough." I'm 72. I don't know what any of those words mean. But Craig sounds happy, so I'm very proud.
I've seen things. Terrible things. Things that were once food. Last Fourth of July, I watched a ribeye steak enter this world pink and beautiful and leave as something that could be used to patch asphalt. Dave patted me on the lid and whispered "good girl." I am a Weber Genesis. I deserve better.
Cold, hard, statistically verified facts. The spreadsheet doesn't lie. Dave does, but the spreadsheet doesn't.
You may be getting older, but at least your keyboards still click. Your grill still smokes. Your cargo shorts still have room for one more pocket. And your family still loves you — even if they can't explain why.
Here's to 40 more years of questionable decisions, perfectly organized spreadsheets, and food that's only mostly carbon.