Today's theme is diesnchantment with beaurocracy.
Ohhhhh yes. Because this was the week that the beaurocracy of this fine academic establishment that employs me, to which my very being is now enmeshed in a sort of modern indentured servitude, decided to leap out from behind its mask of beneficence and BITE ME ON THE ASS. Before, the whole largeness of the organization didn't seem to bother me that much. Sure, I was left off of some lists, and I didn't get a few e-mails- but those misdemeanor infractions were easily cleared up. And I still got a birthday card from the office staff on the right day and everything. So really, somebody's calendars were working correctly. No cause to get in a tiff.
But this week? This whole week has been consumed with my battle to reinstate myself on the housing list for next year after I was left off of a list somewhere and denied a continuance of my lease. It's been AWESOME. I e-mailed the housing office. They referred me to my department. I contacted someone in the department, who then suggested that I might try the housing office. Actually, it's not as abad as all of that...after I explained that I had tried housing already, I received a reassuring, "Well, I'll see if there's anything I can do" from the department. AWESOME. I then sent a politely- worded note to the grad counselor, asking if my name has perhaps been left off of some master list somewhere. And thanking her for her time (which, I mean, I really do appreciate...) But oh my GOD. I don't think I have ever excerxised such scruple in sending a text before to anyone. Not even while writing papers. Because wording an e-mail that expressed my concern without implying that it was anyone's fault was imperative. There's a necessary art to all of that. Get your point across, but realize that, in this university that survives only because it is bolstered by the many trees that have given up there lives for it, you do NOT want to piss off the PAPERWORK PRINCESS!! IT IS NOT A GOOD IDEA!!!
Anyway...then I get a call from my mom saying that a collection agency called me because a bill of mine had run past due. What?! How could that happen? I don't even buy anything on credit! So okay...I called the company. And it turns out that it was merely the case of a typographical error. Someone along the way had mixed up my card number. And set bill collectors calling my family home. And doing who knows what to the credit that I don't even have yet.
AND THEN, I got home and my computer had been infected AGAIN by a virus that I can only describe as Narley. So I called the computing office. Which then referred me to the Weyburn office. Which then referred me to campus tech support. Which I called at 4:59. And received two rings and then a message telling me that business hours were over and to please try again at 8 am tomorrow morning. You can imagine how that went...
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! :::Grab cell phone by extended antena and beat it vehemently on the desk in front of me::: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! :::whamwhamwham!!::::: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
Okay, so I didn't really *do* that.
But I think you see what I mean.
When I grow up I hope I teach at some small liberal arts school where people communicate by sitting in a circle and talking about their feelings while making arts and crafts out of whole wheat maccaroni in upstate Washington or something like that.
Gah.
Ohhhhh yes. Because this was the week that the beaurocracy of this fine academic establishment that employs me, to which my very being is now enmeshed in a sort of modern indentured servitude, decided to leap out from behind its mask of beneficence and BITE ME ON THE ASS. Before, the whole largeness of the organization didn't seem to bother me that much. Sure, I was left off of some lists, and I didn't get a few e-mails- but those misdemeanor infractions were easily cleared up. And I still got a birthday card from the office staff on the right day and everything. So really, somebody's calendars were working correctly. No cause to get in a tiff.
But this week? This whole week has been consumed with my battle to reinstate myself on the housing list for next year after I was left off of a list somewhere and denied a continuance of my lease. It's been AWESOME. I e-mailed the housing office. They referred me to my department. I contacted someone in the department, who then suggested that I might try the housing office. Actually, it's not as abad as all of that...after I explained that I had tried housing already, I received a reassuring, "Well, I'll see if there's anything I can do" from the department. AWESOME. I then sent a politely- worded note to the grad counselor, asking if my name has perhaps been left off of some master list somewhere. And thanking her for her time (which, I mean, I really do appreciate...) But oh my GOD. I don't think I have ever excerxised such scruple in sending a text before to anyone. Not even while writing papers. Because wording an e-mail that expressed my concern without implying that it was anyone's fault was imperative. There's a necessary art to all of that. Get your point across, but realize that, in this university that survives only because it is bolstered by the many trees that have given up there lives for it, you do NOT want to piss off the PAPERWORK PRINCESS!! IT IS NOT A GOOD IDEA!!!
Anyway...then I get a call from my mom saying that a collection agency called me because a bill of mine had run past due. What?! How could that happen? I don't even buy anything on credit! So okay...I called the company. And it turns out that it was merely the case of a typographical error. Someone along the way had mixed up my card number. And set bill collectors calling my family home. And doing who knows what to the credit that I don't even have yet.
AND THEN, I got home and my computer had been infected AGAIN by a virus that I can only describe as Narley. So I called the computing office. Which then referred me to the Weyburn office. Which then referred me to campus tech support. Which I called at 4:59. And received two rings and then a message telling me that business hours were over and to please try again at 8 am tomorrow morning. You can imagine how that went...
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! :::Grab cell phone by extended antena and beat it vehemently on the desk in front of me::: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! :::whamwhamwham!!::::: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!
Okay, so I didn't really *do* that.
But I think you see what I mean.
When I grow up I hope I teach at some small liberal arts school where people communicate by sitting in a circle and talking about their feelings while making arts and crafts out of whole wheat maccaroni in upstate Washington or something like that.
Gah.
1 Comments:
As an undergraduate, I used to play a game called "bureaucracy" with my friends at the lunch table. Basically, somebody at one end of the table would ask for the ketchup (anything, really) and they weren't allowed to have it until it passed through as many unnecessary exchanges as possible. Should the bottle ever go directly to the person requesting it, we'd immediately institute an audit, requiring that every lunch table transaction be approved by the auditor--the auditor, of course, sitting at a table across the cafeteria.
My point is...um...just think of it as a humorous piece of performance satire. Except that it's real.
Yeah...
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