# The Curious Case of Flunking My Anthropic Interview (Again)

Here's a vague overview of what just happened:

1. I recently applied for
   [Anthropic's Developer Relations role](https://job-boards.greenhouse.io/anthropic/jobs/4816735008).
2. My friend who works there gave me a glowing recommendation (thanks again,
   dude!).
3. I completed their secret take-home assignment.
4. On top of their secret take-home assignment, I independently published
   [diggit.dev](https://diggit.dev) and [a companion blogpost](/diggit-000)
   about my \[sincerely\] positive experiences with Claude. I was hoping that
   some unsolicited "extra credit" would make me look like an
   exceptional/ambitious candidate.
5. I
   [posted diggit.dev to HackerNews](https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=45012776)
   and it hit the frontpage!
6. I submitted my take-home assignment and my unsolicited extra credit.
7. They sent me
   [the "unfortunately" email](https://www.reddit.com/r/jobs/comments/1j98vu0/the_word_unfortunately_is_literally_traumatizing/).

Anthropic obviously didn't do anything wrong. I'm just bummed.

Claude Code truly is one of my favorite dev tools ever, and if you've suffered
through [my talks/interviews](/about#appearances), you're probably sick of my
enthusiasm for software. I was particularly excited to interview with Anthropic
because I respect their approach to responsible AI adoption. [This very blog](/)
is too often a crazed celebration of humans, of software, of AI, of progress, of
sincerity -- I, I felt like I was a perfect fit.

The first time I flunked an Anthropic interview (ca. 2022), I accidentally
clicked a wrong button during their automated coding challenge. It was easy to
swallow that failure. I made an honest mistake; I expect companies to reject
candidates who make honest mistakes during interviews.

This is different. I didn't misclick any buttons. My best wasn't good enough.
I'm not good enough.

This essay started as a fantasy: some hero at Anthropic reads this on HackerNews
and vouches for me and I get the job and I help them guide humanity toward
post-scarity AI abundance, forever and ever, amen. I'm ashamed of these
thoughts. It's the same folly of explaining to an ex-girlfriend why she's wrong
about _her own experience_.

Dating was difficult for me. I don't mind feeling ugly or low-status or whatever
-- I know my place. But it hurts to feel seen, feel considered, but ultimately
rejected due to mysterious forces: "He's cute, but he's too weird."

Yes, I'm weird. My eccentric habits have been an overall boon for my career, for
my relationships, for my well-being. But it's moments like these when I just
want to turn all my weird off. I want to be a square peg for this square hole
and do honest work and feed my family and help humanity thrive.

I can't turn my weird off, so I think I defensively dial it up sometimes. I
exaggerate my eccentricities. It's easy to swallow criticism when it isn't the
_real_ me, when it isn't _my best_, when it's _honest mistakes_ -- what a load
of crap. This is me. This is my best. Hello, world.

Now it's all coming back in waves, in gasps -- I spent so much of my life being
an unlikable jerk. Becoming somebody else has been slow/painful and I'm so
deeply afraid of regressing. Over the past decade, I've been striving to spread
joy, to do good, to be better. I'm trying so hard.

And all this keyboard vomit is a promise to myself that I'm not giving up. I am
not regressing. It's just a corporation; this was just a job interview. I hate
this feeling, and I'm staring these nightmares straight in their stupid
eyeballs, and they're not blinking. This is what progress feels like. I am still
alive, and I have so much more to do.

I'm okay. I mean it. I don't need (or deserve) your sympathy. I'm so lucky to be
alive, at this time, at this place, in this body, with these people. My life is
great, and it will get even better if I keep putting in this effort.

Spewing my insides like this onto The Internet is terrifying, but I suspect many
strangers are facing similar feelings. It's rough out there. Whatever it is,
wherever you are, I hope this helps. You've got this. You're not alone, and
we're only human.