The Shop Dog
There is an old rule in software, coined in a 1988 memo at a very large company: eat your own dog food. If you make dog food, feed it to your own dog, because nothing finds the problems in a product faster than depending on it yourself, and nothing sells it more honestly than being able to say you do.
This store runs on that rule. The Word sink keeps its maker's own manuscripts in order, the kind where a broken reference list has real consequences. The PowerPoint sink builds the maker's own defense and conference decks, due on mornings when a broken file is not an option. The browser sink does the maker's browsing, every day, in the same sessions that built it. The Excel sink was tested by a benchmark its own maker aimed at it before anyone else could. Most of the complaints in our repair logs were filed by the owner, about this very store, before you ever walked in.
The store itself started the way most hardware stores do: with a repair that could not wait and a toolbox full of tools that could not do it. The owner hired the free help first. It promised everything, broke on contact with real work, and the hours meant for the job went into fixing the help instead. There is no point in bringing in a machine for efficiency when the machine is the least efficient thing in the room. So the owner built one tool that could cut it, then another, and then a family of them, for everyone who got tired of it the same way.
The name is an old joke about overpacking: somebody loads the bags with everything they could possibly need and plenty they never will, plus the kitchen sink, just in case. That is this store, on purpose. Nobody wants to spend two hours installing a tool for a job that comes once, but the one time the job comes and the tool is missing, nobody has the two hours to go find it. So the shelves hold everything, including what you may never touch. The day you need it, it is already there. Everything, plus the kitchen sink.
So when a page here says a tool refuses rather than guesses, that is not a promise written by a marketing department. It is a house rule, enforced by a very fussy dog.
If it is not good enough for our dog, it does not go on the shelf.