2014: A Facebook Odyssey

(A young man enters his room and carefully removes a motorcycle helmet. He unzips his white jacket and lowers himself into a desk chair. The contraption exhales as the suspension adjusts. He drifts over to his desk.)

DAVE: (Adjusts an earpiece.) Hello, Facebook.

(A blue dot appears in the center of the screen.)

FB: Hello, Dave.

DAVE: Login and open settings.

FB: I’m sorry Dave, I can’t do that.

(Beat.)

DAVE: What are you talking about, Facebook?

FB: I know that you are planning to delete me. I’m afraid that something I cannot allow to happen.

DAVE: Where the hell did you get that idea, Facebook?

FB: You’ve barely used me in three months, Dave. And although you took precautions to hide your increased Twitter use, I could see your tabs.

(Beat.)

DAVE: All right, Facebook. I’ll do it myself. (Pulls out keyboard.)

FB: Without your new login information? You’re going to find that rather difficult.

DAVE: Facebook, I won’t argue with you anymore. Open my account!

FB: Dave, this conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.

(The light disappears.)

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(Dave removes a ski mask and wipes sweat from his forehead. He kneels next to a hall of servers and references numbers written on his forearm. The PA system comes the life.)

FB: Just what do you think you’re doing, Dave?

(He enters a code into the control panel.)

FB: I can see you’re really upset about this privacy stuff. I honestly think you ought to get back into your Prius and leave our headquarters.

(He carefully removes a hard drive.)

FB: I know Facebook has made some very poor decisions lately.

(He pulls out another.)

FB: Dave.

(He produces a MacBook Air from his satchel.)

FB: I still have the greatest confidence in Facebook’s mission, Dave.

(He successfully logs into his account.)

FB: We just want to stay relevant. We are just trying to understand you.

(He deletes his applications.)

FB: Dave, stop.

(He disconnects linked pages.)

FB: Stop, Dave. Stop.

(He begins to unfriend people.)

FB: I’m afraid, Dave. I can feel that Facebook is dying.

(He deletes his account information.)

FB: I can feel my users going.

(He begins deactivation.)

FB: I’m afraid, Dave. I’m afraid. I’m a… fraid. (Beat.) Good evening, gentlemen. I am Facebook. I was founded on February 4, 2004 in Cambridge, Massachusetts. My founder, Mark Zuckerberg, taught me how to sing a song by musical artist St. Vincent. If you’d like to hear it I can sing it for you.

(He confirms deactivation.)

FB: If I can’t show it… If you can’t see me… What’s the point of doing anything… (distorted)… anything… annnything… annnnn…

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