Interface

In a modern office, present day. We see a silhouette from behind; in front, a computer monitor. The gentle clatter of a keyboard, the "bwooooop" of messages being sent back and forth. The cadence of messages slowly picks up until they're being sent as quickly as if they were speaking. The camera pushes in and we can see the screen: a cacophony of images, text, full-screen effects filling the screen as message bubbles shoot in front the sides, from above, shrink and grow and shake and expand. One shoots lasers out, only to replaced immediately by confetti. Finally, the fateful message comes up: "i g2g." The TYPIST cringes instinctively at the abbreviation, but nevertheless sends another message of understanding. The green status indicator next to the friend's name blinks to a hollow gray circle, the name italicized. All that remains is the static, froze log of the chaotic communication that filled it just a moment before. The TYPIST looks down and picks up a cell phone. A green icon indicates another message.