A Hungry Tale About File Permissions

File permissions used to feel super abstract to me. All those numbers and letters — rwx, r--, 755, 644… it was like some secret code I wasn’t in on.

Then one morning, I was just enjoying the quiet. No noise, no rush. Just me and a cup of coffee, thinking. And out of nowhere, I realized something: I was in 400 mode — like, mentally.

I had thoughts, but I wasn’t doing anything with them. Just reading them quietly to myself. That’s what 400 is: I can read, but that’s it. No sharing. No acting. Just… there.

And then I thought — wait, what if file permissions were just thoughts and actions? What if they were feelings? Or better yet… what if they were about being hungry?

So imagine this:

You’re sitting in a long meeting. You suddenly think, “I’m hungry.” That’s it. You can’t do anything about it, can’t even talk about it. That’s 400 — you’ve got the thought, but you’re locked in. Read-only mode.

The meeting finally ends. You walk out and start thinking, “Where should I go eat?” You’re still just in your own head, figuring it out. But now you’re editing the thought, considering options. That’s 600 — you can read and write to your internal lunch plans, but still no action.

Then you make a decision: “Yep, I want a burger.” You grab your keys and head for the door. Boom — 700. You’re reading the plan, adjusting it if needed, and actually doing something. All systems go.

On your way out, you run into a friend. You tell them, “Hey, I’m going to grab a burger.” You’re not asking for input, not inviting them — just sharing. That’s 740 — you’ve got full control, and your friend can see the plan, but they can’t change it or join you.

But then they say, “Hey, have you tried that new place on 5th?” And now you’re considering their suggestion. You’re both tossing around burger ideas. Now we’re at 760 — they can read and write, but you’re still the one who acts.

Eventually, you both decide to go together. It’s a team mission now. That’s 770 — full permissions for both of you. Read, write, and execute all the way.

The burgers turn out to be amazing. So good that you post about it online: a full recap, photos, the whole burger breakdown. Now everyone can read what you did, but only you and your friend can change the post or do something more with it. That’s 774 — public read access, but the inner circle still has the power.

Then people start replying: “This looks amazing!” “I’m going there tomorrow!” They’re writing comments, but not copying your plan or running with it themselves. That’s 776 — read and write for everyone, but no one’s executing anything just yet.

Eventually, the post goes viral. People are following your steps, heading to the burger spot, writing their own posts. Everyone’s in. Full access. That’s 777 — read, write, execute for everyone. The burger revolution is real.

And just like that, file permissions didn’t seem so cryptic anymore.

I mean, sure — this doesn’t cover every corner case of Linux permissions. But it made the whole thing click for me in a way I didn’t expect. Instead of cold numbers, it became a story: a progression of awareness → planning → action → sharing.

So next time you’re staring at a file trying to remember the difference between 644 and 755, maybe just ask yourself: “Am I in burger mode yet?”

And if you are… I hope it’s a 777 kind of day.