The Most Awkward Moments I’ve Experienced While Pair Programming
Ah, pair programming. It’s like dancing with your code, except sometimes you’re stepping on each other’s toes, and the music is the constant clacking of keyboards. As a self-taught developer who’s been in the game for over a decade now, I’ve had my fair share of pair programming sessions. Some were smooth as butter, while others… well, let’s just say they were about as graceful as a giraffe on roller skates.
Today, I’m going to share some of the most awkward moments I’ve experienced during pair programming. Buckle up, folks, because we’re about to take a cringe-worthy trip down memory lane.
The “Oops, I Forgot How to Code” Moment
You know that feeling when you’re standing in front of an open fridge, staring blankly, and suddenly forgetting why you even opened it in the first place? Well, imagine that, but with code. And an audience.
There I was, sitting next to my colleague, Sarah, ready to tackle a tricky React component. We fired up VS Code, and… my mind went completely blank. It was as if all my JavaScript knowledge had decided to take an impromptu vacation.
“Uh, let’s start by… um… declaring a variable?” I stammered, feeling my face heat up.
Sarah looked at me, eyebrow raised. “For what?”
“You know, for… stuff?”
Smooth, right? It was like my brain had suddenly decided to reboot, and I was left fumbling with the basics. We eventually got through it, but not before I had thoroughly embarrassed myself and probably made Sarah question the company’s hiring practices.
The Great Indentation Debate
Here’s a pro tip: before you start pair programming, make sure you and your partner agree on coding style. Otherwise, you might end up in what I like to call “The Great Indentation Debate of 2018.”
Picture this: I’m working with Mike, a brilliant developer but also a staunch advocate for tabs. I, on the other hand, am a spaces guy. We’re working on a Python script, and things are going smoothly until…
“Hey, why are you using spaces?” Mike asks, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of horror.
“Because that’s the right way to do it?” I reply, equally confused.
What followed was a 20-minute discussion on the merits of tabs versus spaces. We pulled up style guides, cited famous developers, and even drew diagrams. All while our actual task sat untouched.
In the end, we agreed to disagree and let the project’s .editorconfig file be the final arbiter. But those 20 minutes? Pure, unadulterated awkwardness.
The “I Swear I Know How to Spell” Incident
As a self-taught developer, I sometimes worry about how I measure up to my colleagues with computer science degrees. This insecurity reached its peak during a pair programming session with Alex, a recent CS grad with a memory like a steel trap.
We were working on a new feature, and I was at the keyboard. Everything was going well until I had to type “algorithm.”
I typed “algoritm.”
Delete.
“Algorigthm.”
Delete.
“Algorythm.”
By this point, Alex was trying (and failing) to suppress a smirk. I could feel my ears burning as I fumbled with the spelling. After what felt like an eternity, I finally got it right.
“Happens to everyone,” Alex said kindly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just confirmed every stereotype about self-taught developers.
The Unexpected Guest Appearance
Working from home has its perks, but it also sets the stage for some truly awkward moments. Like the time I was pair programming with my team lead, Jennifer, over a video call.
We were deep into debugging a particularly nasty bug in our Next.js app when my 5-year-old son decided it was the perfect moment to make his coding debut.
“Daddy, I need to poop!” he announced, barging into the room and into full view of my webcam.
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by Jennifer’s barely contained laughter. I, meanwhile, was torn between mortification and the urgent need to attend to my son’s… pressing matter.
Needless to say, our debugging session was cut short. But hey, at least it broke the tension of staring at error messages for an hour.
The “Did I Just Push That?” Panic
Version control is a lifesaver, but it can also be the source of some heart-stopping moments. During one pair programming session, my partner and I were working on a critical update to our production codebase.
We were making good progress, cracking jokes, and feeling pretty good about ourselves. That is, until I accidentally pushed our changes directly to the main branch instead of creating a pull request.
The moment I realized what I’d done, time seemed to stand still. I could feel the blood draining from my face as I turned to my partner, who was staring at the screen in disbelief.
“Did you just…?”
“I think I did.”
What followed was a frantic scramble to revert the changes before anyone noticed. We managed to fix it, but not before I’d aged about ten years and probably developed a few new gray hairs.
The Silent Treatment
Pair programming is all about communication, right? Well, tell that to past me and my then-coworker, Tom. We were paired up for a sprint, tasked with refactoring a particularly gnarly piece of legacy code.
The problem? Tom and I had… let’s call it a “difference of opinion” during the last team meeting. And by that, I mean we’d gotten into a heated argument about the best way to structure our React components.
So there we were, sitting side by side, stubbornly refusing to speak more than absolutely necessary. Our conversation consisted mainly of grunts, sighs, and the occasional muttered “Your turn to type.”
It was excruciating. The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. We got the job done, but I think we both needed a stiff drink afterwards to recover from the tension.
The Imposter Syndrome Meltdown
Imposter syndrome is real, folks, and it can strike at the most inopportune moments. Like when you’re pair programming with the person you consider to be the best developer in your company.
I was working with Dave, our resident JavaScript guru, on optimizing our app’s performance. Everything was going fine until we hit a particularly complex problem involving async operations and state management.
Dave suggested a solution that went right over my head. And instead of asking for clarification, my brain decided this was the perfect time to have an existential crisis.
“I don’t belong here,” I blurted out. “I’m not smart enough for this. I should just go back to making lattes.”
Poor Dave looked like he’d been hit by a truck. He spent the next half hour reassuring me and breaking down the problem into smaller, more manageable pieces. It was kind of him, but boy, was it awkward.
Conclusion
Pair programming can be an incredibly effective way to write better code, catch bugs early, and share knowledge. But like any human interaction, it’s also ripe for awkward moments. The key is to remember that we’re all human, we all make mistakes, and we’re all learning.
So the next time you find yourself in a pair programming session, and you feel that familiar sense of awkwardness creeping in, take a deep breath. Remember these stories. And know that somewhere out there, there’s a developer who once announced to their team lead that they needed to poop.
Happy coding, folks. And may your pair programming sessions be productive, enlightening, and only mildly awkward.