The course
book.

The lingo.

Once you know the lingo, you don't have to know how to do it all yourself — as of the last couple of years, you can get it done for you. But you have to know what to ask for, and that means the words. These are the ones that pay rent.

Flat file vs. database.

Every site stores stuff: users, orders, posts, scores. The question is where. There are two honest answers and a hundred bad ones.

The flat file

A flat file is just a file — roster.csv, a JSON blob, a text document. The program opens it, reads it, writes it. Fine for a menu, a config, a small list that one person edits.

The wall: two people write at once and the file corrupts. A thousand rows and every read is a slog. No passwords, no permissions — the file either opens or it doesn't. Flat files are a notebook; databases are the filing cabinet with a clerk.

The database

A database is a program whose whole job is storing and answering. You ask in a language called SQL — "give me every student on the GPT track" — and it answers in milliseconds over a million rows, while fifty other people are asking different questions at the same time.

This class's own roster is a database — a SQLite file behind api.php. Your seat code, your quiz scores, the schedule: rows in tables, not lines in a notebook. When you took the quiz, an INSERT wrote your answers; when you opened the portal, a SELECT read them back.

Modular code.

Nobody writes a program as one giant file — not past a toy. Real software comes in modules: separate files that each do one job and hand finished work to each other.

Why it matters when you're working with an agent: a module is the unit of work you hand the AI. "Rewrite this file" is a task an agent can complete and you can review. "Fix my website" is how you get a confident mess. Modular thinking is the difference between driving the agent and being dragged by it.

It's also how you read a codebase: don't read it like a book — read it like a building. Find the front door, find the rooms, follow the hallway between them.

Endpoints & APIs.

An endpoint is a URL that answers a request with data instead of a page. An API is the whole set of endpoints a service offers — the menu of things software can ask for.

That's the whole trick behind every "connected" thing you've ever used: a request goes out, JSON comes back, the page redraws itself. The weather app, the Discord bot, the card machine at the taqueria — endpoints all the way down.

When you work with an agent, the API is the contract: "this endpoint takes a code and returns the roster." Once you can say that sentence, you can have real work built — because you're describing the machine, not wishing at it.

Security & compliance.

This is the chapter most courses skip and most sites fail.

The rules that keep you out of the story

Never trust input. Everything a user types is hostile until proven otherwise — search boxes, forms, seat codes. The classic hole is SQL injection: typing code into a box that ends up running on the database. The fix is called parameterized queries — the API in this class uses them everywhere, which is why you can't break the roster by typing weird stuff into the sign-in box.

Secrets don't go in the page. Keys, tokens, passwords live server-side or in config files the web can't read — never in HTML, never in JavaScript, never in a GitHub repo. If it's in the page, it's public. This class's desk key is stored as a hash — even the database doesn't know the real key.

Lock the storage. The database file itself sits in a folder the web server refuses to serve. Ask for it by URL, you get a 403 — the data only comes out through the API, and the API checks who you are first.

Compliance is a floor, not a feature. HIPAA for health data, PCI for cards, plain decency for everything else. If a site collects client information and stores it in a form anybody can read, that's not a website — that's a liability with a logo.

The tools.

The class ladder walks the same order: GPT → Codex → Devin. Each level assumes the one before it. And the rule that never changes: the AI types, you check. Two sets of eyes, at least twice — that's the house rule and it should become yours.

How the class runs.

Like college, not like a webinar. A class day has a shape:

The break is on purpose. You eat, your head cools, the morning's material settles — then you come back fresh for the lab. Same shape in the evening section: lecture, dinner, two more hours. Nobody talks at you for four hours straight — that's not teaching, that's endurance.

Day is for business. Night is for bettering yourself. The day section is built for owners — the goal is to teach you how to do your own marketing by talking to your AI, and that's work you do in work hours. The night section is held for the people putting in the work after work — after the shift, after the business closes. And life isn't fixed: if you're working days and need nights, or busy evenings and need days, tell the desk — if there's a seat, we switch your section.

You take tests. Real quizzes on a real clock — an hour, in the portal, graded and on the record. The full meal deal: you're not here to be talked at, you're here to be measured.

The roster is real. Your seat code signs you into the portal — schedule, quizzes, scores. Climb a level and your seat is saved: L1 to L2 to L3, nobody jumps your spot.

The classes stay small on purpose. This isn't a money play — the point is that you actually learn, and a small group is how a teacher actually teaches. When the cohort fills, enrollment closes.

Everybody takes the test first. A Myers-Briggs personality test before class — how you're wired changes how you learn, and how we teach you. It's part of the seat. Take the free assessment at 16personalities.com — about ten minutes — then email your result straight to jadec@epicappsolutions.com; the desk will know what it's for. And the standing rule: if you don't want to be here, don't sign up — there's plenty of AI classes. This one's for the people who mean it.

Discord is the campus. The class channel is where seats open, quizzes drop, and scores post. It's tied into the desk — when the Captain approves your seat, the channel knows.