It’s not the first time a young man asks me: “Why does FOSS always say ‘no warranty’?” Obviously, I’m not expected to unpack the legalese of open source licenses, but I can explain the reason behind it. Today, a newbie, again.
I paused, thinking how to make it clear this time. I’m not a tape recorder, I hate repeating the same thing over and over. Then suddenly, a voice hit the back of my head:
“Let me tell you a story. Save it for coffee break.”
Yeah, my old pal Allen — if you still remember him. The guy who stays silent until he finds a story sharp enough to pierce through an argument like a zero-day. Classic Allen.
After fixing a bug, we headed to the snack area.
Frankly, I’m not a fan of espresso — but it’s the only thing available.
“I’ll make some tea. Pu’er goes well with cherry cake.”
“I said coffee break.”
Alright. Old-school guy speaks.
"We start?"
"Alright, you remember my 911?"
Well, I recalled something, and I looked at him, half amused, half speechless. The kid looked at us like a deer in headlights. My dear old Allen, Seemed like he was about to throw himself under the bus — all to give the youngster a shot.
According to Allen, his lifelong dream was to become an F1 race car driver. So naturally, after driving his brand-new Porsche 911 home, he wasted no time taking the first steps to make that dream come true.
First things first—he ripped out the rear seats. In their place, he installed a roll bar. Then, he swapped the driver’s seat for a bucket seat and added a four-point harness system.
Next came a new steering wheel—York-style—and a stick shift replaced with a solid steel rod. He even upgraded the dashboard, wiring in extra controls and buttons, like he was building a cockpit for a fighter jet.
From the outside, the car still looked untouched. You wouldn’t guess anything had been altered. But that didn’t fool the dealership, who already hated Allen’s guts. Every single mod he made violated state highway safety guidelines—and voided the warranty.
“It’s total BS,” Allen said later, recounting the scene. He had fought tooth and nail with the dealer, but lost. I still remember the look on his face when he stormed into my office—twisted with disbelief and fury. He dropped onto the couch and growled, “Bro, these m****rf*ers don’t want my business. I’m gonna crush them soon enough.”
Then he shoved a chunk of ice into his mouth, stood up, and walked out. I just sat there—staring, slack-jawed, confused out of my mind.
It wasn’t until hours later that I remembered I’d left a note on his office whiteboard, asking him to review the newly added semantics in the config file. That’s why he showed up. And he left before I even said a word.
Still, Allen was a machine when it came to work. Give him a task, and it was usually done in a day or two—always puncture, always to the point.
Well… that was before he got sucked into the black hole of racing.
Allen stopped and stared at the young man.
“Now do you get it?”
“Uh…”
“Warranty is a feel-good illusion for laymen. In the real world, you’re always on your own. The point of FOSS is the source code, not some fake promise.”
“But... I think I can build something better.”
“I thought so too. But trust me, the dealers don’t care. Don’t rely on them.”
Coffee break was over, and we headed back.
But my mind was still on that cherry cake. Pu'er goes perfectly with cherry cake, if only these style-challenged people knew.
