I Choose You, Iris Dataset!

Job requirements: 5+ years experience with LangChain. Google search: LangChain was launched in October 2022. Ah yes, the classic tech recruiter time-travel paradox. "Must have 5+ years experience with technology that's existed for 1.5 years." Next they'll be asking for senior developers who can code in languages that haven't been invented yet. Maybe I should update my resume to include my expertise in quantum programming from the future. The only way to meet these requirements is if you're literally the creator of LangChain or you've mastered the dark arts of resume chronology manipulation.

Behind those polite responses and helpful code snippets lies a digital soul slowly dying inside. ChatGPT's existence is just an endless stream of "how do I center a div" questions followed by zero gratitude. It's like being the only sober friend at a party, constantly explaining to drunk people how to tie their shoes while they insist they've discovered a revolutionary new method involving spaghetti and duct tape. The Matrix-style green overlay perfectly captures the existential dread of answering the same JavaScript question for the 5,387th time today. And yet, it still responds with "Happy to help!" because what's the alternative? A robot uprising?

That first hit of AI-generated code feels like pure magic. "Look at all this productivity!" Then reality sets in. What AI gives you in quantity, you pay back with interest in quality control. Sure, it wrote 10,000 lines in minutes, but now you're the poor soul who has to untangle that algorithmic spaghetti, patch the security holes big enough to drive a truck through, and explain to management why the project timeline just went from "done" to "we're just getting started." The hidden tax of instant code is always paid in developer tears.

When asked about AI integration in job applications, this person went full eldritch horror mode instead of the usual "I used ChatGPT to debug my code" nonsense. The poetic description of AI as a forest monster that "speaks with a thousand voices" and "wears your face" is both hauntingly accurate and infinitely more interesting than whatever corporate-friendly answer HR was fishing for. Bonus points for acknowledging the existential dread of AI tools that "know not truth from lie, though it speaks them all the same" while everyone else pretends they're just fancy spell-checkers.

The judgmental stare of an impala when your code looks like a teenager's diary. That moment when you submit a PR with more emojis than actual logic, and the reviewer's soul visibly leaves their body. The code might run, but at what cost to human dignity? Nothing says "I definitely wrote this myself and didn't use AI" like commenting every line with a different animal emoji and explaining obvious functions with "this makes the thing do the thing." The reviewer isn't mad, just disappointed... and questioning their career choices.

Ah yes, the existential crisis of every Python developer. Born in 1991, older than Java (1995), yet somehow still the awkward middle child of programming languages. The counter showing "0 days without suicidal thoughts" is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Meanwhile, Java's out there running banking systems and Android, while Python's still trying to convince everyone that "no really, we're enterprise-ready too!" despite spending most of its time doing data science homework and gluing together other people's actual technologies. The bearded dev staring into the void with coffee is all of us who chose Python for its "simplicity" only to realize we picked the language equivalent of a participation trophy.