Confidently wrong is the only unforgivable bug
An agent that does your data entry is only worth having if you can stop checking its work. So the one bug I can't ship is the confident mistake — the wrong answer delivered straight-faced. The goal was never zero mistakes. It's zero confident ones.
An agent that does your data entry is only worth having if you can stop checking its work. That's the entire promise: you snap the photo, you forward the email, and you don't re-read every date it filed to make sure it got them right. The moment you have to double-check everything, you haven't saved any time — you've added a step and a worry.
So the one bug I can't ship is the one that quietly poisons that: the confident mistake.
The mistake that costs you the customer
Early on I handed Dustav a firefighter's shift calendar — a dense, colour-coded grid where the whole meaning lives in which shade each day is. Asked which days were a given shift, it produced a clean, confident, day-by-day list. It was wrong. Not "I'm not sure" wrong — here are your shifts, filed and reminded wrong, off by a couple of days, delivered with total composure.
That's the failure that ends the product. A tool that's right 95% of the time but tells you it's right 100% of the time is worse than a tool that's right 80% and tells you which 20% it wasn't sure about — because the second one you can trust, and the first one you can't trust at all. If it can hallucinate even once and hand it to you straight-faced, you're back to checking everything, and now you're checking a machine's homework, which is somehow worse than doing it yourself.
Read before you conclude
The subtler version of this bug isn't misreading a picture. It's concluding too early from too little.
A real one: a customer of my design partner had an order, and somewhere in the thread was a reference to a refund. The reader saw the word, saw the number, and concluded a refund had been issued. Confident. Wrong. Because it had only read the subject line and a one-line snippet — not the actual conversation, where my partner had asked that customer to place a different order, and the "refund" was a top-up that had already been printed and shipped. The truth was three messages deep, and the reader had stopped at message one.
The fix was not a smarter model. It was giving the reader the ability — and the instruction — to open the whole thread and read it before deciding anything. Investigate, then conclude. Cross-reference the order numbers. And if it's still genuinely ambiguous after reading everything, the correct move isn't a best guess with a confident face. It's to ask. A scheduler that occasionally asks a clarifying question is doing its job; one that fills the gap with a plausible invention is doing the one thing I can't allow.
Say what you can't read
Back to that shift grid. The honest architecture isn't "extract it and hope." It's a reading-check that runs before extraction and rates how reliably the thing can even be read — and when the answer is "this is too dense to call," it says so, out loud, in its own voice, and offers a way through: crop it to one month and I'll read that cleanly. It stops trying to be a hero on an input it can't handle and becomes honest about it instead.
That's the same instinct everywhere in Dustav: when the machine can't do a reliable one-shot read, it surfaces what it can see and lets a human close the gap, rather than asserting something it can't stand behind. The product isn't "never makes a mistake." It's "never makes a confident mistake."
Zero confident mistakes, not zero mistakes
I can't promise you a machine that never misreads a smudged photo or a weird receipt. Nobody can, and a founder who tells you otherwise is selling you the exact confident-wrongness I'm trying to kill. What I can build toward is a machine that never lies about it — that flags the shaky read, quarantines the guess, asks the question, and leaves a visible trail of what it actually did so you can check the one thing it was unsure about instead of all of them.
Every wrong-but-flagged read is recoverable in a single glance. Every wrong-but-confident read is a landmine you step on weeks later, at picture day, or at tax time.
The one-sentence version
A scheduler that's occasionally wrong and always honest, I'd trust with my week. A scheduler that's usually right and never unsure, I wouldn't trust with a dentist appointment. Dustav is built to be the first one — because for the thing it's trying to be, confidently wrong is the only unforgivable bug.