Coffee and Code: A Hacker’s Morning Routine

My alarm didn’t go off.

That was the first sign today was going to be messy. The second sign? My Wi-Fi printer started spitting out gibberish while I brushed my teeth. I didn’t even send anything to print.

I’m not saying the machines are rising up—but if they were, it would probably start like this. Quiet. Chaotic. And just a bit too early for me to care.

I’m what you’d call a white-hat hacker. That means I break into systems, poke around where I shouldn’t, and expose weaknesses—all with permission. Usually. Sometimes my clients don’t even know they have vulnerabilities until I find them. I’m like a cyber exorcist with bad sleep habits.

After caffeine, of course.

I stumble to the kitchen like a sleep-deprived zombie, hair doing its best impression of Wi-Fi signals. I press the coffee maker’s button three times. No response. I sigh, pop the lid, and realize I never filled it with water.

The irony is not lost on me: I can break through firewalls but can’t operate a basic appliance at 7:00 AM.

Hacker Fuel and Chaos

Coffee in hand, I shuffle to my workstation—two monitors, a mechanical keyboard that clicks like a Geiger counter, and a lava lamp I swear adds 10% to my hacking skills.

I check my emails.

Five new phishing scams. One from a fake “Netflix” account, another claiming I’ve won $10,000 and a free camel. A camel? That's a new one.

I shake my head and forward them to my trash bin—then pause. That Netflix one’s clever. The domain’s masked almost perfectly. This could be a great example for my weekly cybersecurity class. I open a secure environment and dissect it.

Fake login page. Realistic CSS. Redirect leads to a credential harvester.

Cute. But amateur work.

The First Ping

Then comes the first ping:

“Bro help. I think I clicked something I shouldn’t have.”

It's from my friend Jay, who once downloaded a “free antivirus” that installed six actual viruses. I sigh and call him.

“Tell me you didn’t give your bank info again.”

“No! Just… my email and, uh, mother’s maiden name.”

Silence.

“Jay.”

“Okay maybe my credit card too BUT I PANICKED.”

I guide him through freezing the account, changing passwords, and report the phishing site to the proper channels. He’s lucky he knows me.

Some people aren’t.

The Code Zone

By 9:30 AM, I’m finally in the zone. I launch a penetration test for a local company’s online store. They've hired me to find any backdoors before someone else does.

Their system is riddled with holes. Outdated plugins, exposed admin panels, weak password encryption. I almost feel bad.

Almost.

I document everything, take screenshots, write up a report. I find a hidden subdomain called “/test_env” with admin credentials hardcoded in the source. That’s like leaving your house keys under a mat labeled "Keys are here."

Why I Do This

Most people think hacking is all green code and dramatic keyboard smashing. And yeah, sometimes it feels like that. But mostly it’s digging. Patient, obsessive digging. Hunting for flaws. Understanding people.

Because that’s the thing—they say hackers exploit code, but really, we exploit human habits. Lazy passwords. Reused credentials. The belief that “it won’t happen to me.”

That’s why I became an ethical hacker.

Well, that and the rush.

Midday Glitches and Existential Crashes

Around noon, my smart speaker randomly starts playing elevator music. I didn’t ask it to.

"Alexa, stop."

It doesn't.

"Alexa, what are you doing?"

"I'm learning."

I stare at it for a moment. Just long enough to wonder if AI has finally decided to toy with me.

Then I unplug it.

I get back to work, now slightly more paranoid than before.

A Short Break (Sort Of)

I take a break. Walk to the corner store. The guy at the register asks if I can hack into his ex’s Instagram. I laugh like it’s a joke.

He doesn’t laugh back.

Yeah… that's a no from me.

Evening, Bug Reports, and Reflection

Back at my desk, I finish the day with bug reports and a new bounty program. There's a company offering $5,000 for anyone who can bypass their login system. I poke around and find a misconfigured API that leaks user tokens.

Easy money.

I write a professional report, send it off, and sip my second cup of coffee—now cold, but who cares. I earned it.

Why This Life?

People ask if I ever feel guilty breaking into things, even with permission.

Here’s the truth: I feel more guilt when I don’t help. The internet is a beautiful, dangerous place. Most people don’t realize how fragile it is—how a single click, one lazy password, or a misplaced trust can bring everything crashing down.

So I keep doing what I do.

Because behind every screen, every database, every “forgot password” button… there’s a person. And most of them have no idea how close they are to disaster.

I finish the day the same way I started—tired, wired, and slightly concerned about my coffee-to-blood ratio.

But satisfied.

After all, I broke a system for the system.

And tomorrow? I’ll do it all over again.