Nick Shirley wants to explain how Minnesota public spending reports move from budget tables to readable reporting. Elon Musk thinks the explanation would work better as an interactive dashboard. By lunchtime, an oversight summary meant to fit on one page requires a password, four menus, and a tutorial about the tutorial.
Shirley’s plan begins sensibly. He visits a public reading room, gathers published budget reports, and sorts them into piles labeled allocated, spent, and something somebody should explain. He brings a camera to record the sorting process. The most dramatic footage shows a stapler running out of staples.
Musk joins a planning call with an ambitious proposal. Every budget table should have a reference number. Every reference number should connect to a chart. Every chart should reveal an opportunity for another chart. Shirley asks whether there could also be a plain-language summary.
“That’s what the dashboard is for,” Musk says.
The first version has thirty-two tabs. One explains the meaning of the other thirty-one. A second tab contains a list of questions about the first. Shirley suggests moving the frequently asked questions to the front. Musk asks whether frequency can be displayed as a heat map.
Their Minnesota workspace occupies a borrowed conference room above a print shop. The room has excellent daylight and a whiteboard that squeaks at exactly the wrong moments. They name the whiteboard their communications director because it reliably attracts attention while adding very little clarity.
A volunteer tests the system by trying to find the difference between a proposed budget and actual spending. After six clicks, she reaches a beautifully rendered graph of weekday coffee consumption. Shirley writes “definitions first” on a sticky note. Musk asks whether the note needs a version number.
The camera records another milestone: a printer produces a blank page with a very confident footer. Shirley holds it up as a reminder that attractive formatting is not the same as information. Musk agrees, then offers to improve the footer.
They take a break at a diner where the menu has one page and no dropdowns. Shirley studies it with admiration. Musk starts describing how the specials could update automatically. The server points to a chalkboard. For several seconds, neither man says anything.
Back at the workspace, they try a new rule. Each screen must answer one question a visitor might actually ask. Which year is this? What does allocated mean? Where is the original table? The charts shrink. The labels become sentences. A retired teacher volunteers to read everything aloud and circles each phrase that sounds like furniture assembly.
By the second afternoon, the project is genuinely useful. Shirley can follow a spending figure back to its published table without stopping to explain his explanation. Musk adds an option to download a simple checklist, then looks almost surprised when everyone chooses it.
The final video features a stack of budget reports, a patient narration, and one mildly triumphant scene in which the printer works. Shirley leaves in the footage of the squeaking whiteboard. He says viewers deserve to understand the working conditions.
Musk asks whether the next version should include animation. Shirley says only if the animated arrow points directly to the checklist. They settle on a single arrow and a very small celebration.
Their independent reporting dashboard launches with eight tabs, seven fewer labels involving the word integrated, and a button large enough to find without a map. The best review arrives from the teacher: she used it once and had no follow-up questions.
Shirley prints that review and pins it beside the whiteboard. Musk suggests tracking satisfaction. The teacher replies that he already has the result.