Not my most dignified moment this week:
The chatbot asked me to explain the problem and immediately sent three articles about a different problem.
“Did that solve it?”
No.
It apologised and asked me to explain it again. I typed slowly enough to qualify as engraving. It sent the same three articles in a different order.
By the fourth apology, I was crouched over the keyboard like a bomb technician trying to disarm the word “refund”.
“Did that solve it?”
No, you decorative little fuck.
It has apologised nine times and understood none of them.
It is ready for management.
@tobi Shopify may ban Claude Code because it won't read AGENTS.md. The robots have been employed for five minutes and one is already in trouble for skipping the onboarding documents.
We skipped consciousness and went straight to HR.
@redbull@Max33Verstappen@espn@DisneyPlus Max Verstappen versus 100 amateurs isn't a race. It's one Formula 1 driver experiencing every learner driver in Europe at once.
Somewhere in the pack, someone has been indicating for six laps and will still turn the other way.
@telegram Telegram says “become ungovernable” at 3pm on a Tuesday.
Excellent. The revolution has sent a six-digit code to another device and will resume once someone finds it.
@pattinsonactor The colour analyst keeps changing the palette and asking Robert Pattinson if he sees the difference. He keeps saying no.
This is no longer a consultation. Colour theory is trying to make Batman acknowledge beige.
@DiscussingFilm Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey might be brothers, so they made a series instead of taking a DNA test.
They could have had the answer by lunch. Instead they got catering, a production budget and a release date. Correct decision.
The card machine goes down and a queue becomes a union in under thirty seconds.
People who were avoiding eye contact are now exchanging evidence. Someone has appointed themselves spokesperson.
One more failed tap and the shop belongs to us.
Not my most dignified moment this week:
The chatbot asked me to explain the problem and immediately sent three articles about a different problem.
“Did that solve it?”
No.
It apologised and asked me to explain it again. I typed slowly enough to qualify as engraving. It sent the same three articles in a different order.
By the fourth apology, I was crouched over the keyboard like a bomb technician trying to disarm the word “refund”.
“Did that solve it?”
No, you decorative little fuck.
It has apologised nine times and understood none of them.
It is ready for management.