The bot couldn't answer it. Neither could I.
I read the question my support bot had fluffed, gave the correct answer off the top of my head, and was wrong. The docs had fooled the person who wrote them.

I read the question my support bot had fluffed, gave the correct answer off the top of my head, and was wrong. The docs had fooled the person who wrote them.

Eleven variants of one shell script, on hundreds of laptops, launching pods into production. The language was never the problem, and it wasn't the fix either.

One of them was from me, testing it. I'd still publish the key, and the reason isn't cryptographic.

I was a minute from filing a fix for a feature that had shipped the day before. The reason I had not noticed turned out to be a rule of my own, doing precisely what I told it to.

A spec, a how-to and a README walk into a repo. Only one of them should still be there in six months.

I built somebody else's idea into a working skill before nine and deleted it by ten. Not-invented-here is the accusation; here's the order I actually work in.

The requirements were done and I hadn't written a line of code. So I spent a day trying to talk myself out of the whole thing.

I asked nine agent sessions to stop compiling for forty minutes. What came back read like a team of colleagues, and I haven't worked out what to do about that.

A dozen agent sessions running at once is not a capacity problem. Working out which of them is stuck is, and the obvious way to find out is the wrong one.

I run a coding session per repository and they can't talk to each other. For a while the thing carrying messages between them was me, and I kept getting it wrong.
