weltyc@sirius.cs.rpi.edu (Chris Welty) (03/13/91)
{ed Warning - a quite long story of an amusing encounter with bureaucracy}
[exerpted from "The Collected Works of Chris Welty" by Chris Welty.
This material is original in that I exerpted it from my own writings.
The events described here are slightly embellished versions of the
true story of my graduation.]
Many many many years ago, I finally finished my Master's Project.
It had always been a sore point, a dark cloud hanging over my head,
and I finally sat down and handed something in. Done, complete,
history. What a relief.
Of course, just to check on everything, I went down to the Pitts
(for the benefit of those non-RPI readers, this is the
place where all our administration is housed - the `Pittsburgh
Building', known fondly as `The Pitts') to check that all things were
going smoothly with my diploma and my impending graduation to `Master.'
Faint strains of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony echoed in the background
as the registrar said, "I'm sorry, but there is a Bursar hold on your
diploma."
My bright, cheerful, expression dropped. Of course - an
administrative failure. "Why?" I asked in desperation.
"I don't know, you'll have to go to the Bursar's office. Next!"
So I ventured down into the dismal darkness of the sub-basement (no
wonder these people are so cheerful) where the Bursar's office is
located.
"You have outstanding tuition due from the Spring semester."
"But I'm staff, I don't PAY for courses."
"Go see Human Resources. Next!"
Human resources, ask any employee about them. Sure, they had it in for
us, and now they were getting me back for not reading the `Human
Resources Bulletin.' HRO is located BELOW the Bursar's office, so
you can imagine how happy and peppy they are there.
"I swear I filled out the proper form for employee scholarship for
Spring, but the Bursar tells me I still owe money for tuition."
After disappearing into the vault of employee records for a few
minutes, the little gnome reappeared, "We have your form on record.
You shouldn't owe anything. Here's you receipt. Next!"
Could it be HRO was not against me? Carrying my RECEIPT like a
victory banner, I marched into the Bursar's cellar and declared, "Ha!
I DID fill out the proper form and should have all tution waived."
The receptionist frowned in apparent defeat. "Wait here," she said.
Going to call in the big guns. I shifted the receipt from banner to
shield. Out came the associate assistant undersecretary to the bursar.
"You are registered for THREE courses this semester, staff
scholarship only pays for TWO. You owe us for the other one." An evil
smile began to creep onto her face.
"But I'm only taking two courses this semester."
"Then go see the registrar. Next!"
The registrar was at least helpful, "Our computer is down. You'll
have to come back in about half an hour." So I came back. "You are
registered for three courses," she said.
"But I dropped one of those," I replied.
"Did you keep your receipt?" She shook her head in response to my
blank stare. "Next!"
I walked dejectedly back to my office at the top of the hill, like
a recusrive program I was back at the top, yet there was no solution
in sight. On a desperate whim, I checked to see if I had retained my
drop receipt. Defying all known laws of chance and Murphy, I found it,
tucked neatly in a file labeled "RPI Admin." Once again my expression
retained a tinge of triumph, as I proceeded down the hill again and
into pergatory. This time, with experience behind me, my banner was
not flying so high.
"I have here a receipt that I dropped that third course," I declared
to the registrar person.
"Hmmm. So you do, hmmmm...." After conferring with the rest of the
Registrar staff, each of whom would shrug, look at me, and shake their
head, she said "You'll have to go see Jenny, right through that door.
Next!"
Jenny. I turned slowly towards the infamous doors that led to
"Jenny's Office". Jenny. Dread crept into my heart and slowly spread
up and down my spine. Jenny. I've seen the horror in the faces of
students sentenced to "see Jenny." Many have even gone to community
college rather than meet this fate. I took a deep breath, and swallowing my
fears, stepped through the doors and into the back rooms
of the registrar's office. This is the place where the decisions
about people's very lives were made. There were screams audible in
the distance, and the foul, dank stench of death was hanging in the
air like an ominous warning to any who dared walk these halls. My
drop reciept, my only reminder that there was life outside, shown like
a beacon as I crept through the passage into the dark room known
only as "Jenny's Office".
"I have a reciept here saying I dropped a course but I am still
registered for it and the Bursar is hold..."
She held out her hand, signalling me to shut up, and I reluctantly
surrendered my drop reciept. "Uh huh," she nodded. "Hmmm. Ahh,
hmmmm," she mumbled. "Well, there it is."
"Eh?" I responded, quizzically.
"Right there," she pointed at the numbers on my drop receipt. "You
filled in the zero instead of the one box, so the scanner dropped you
from another course. Let me fix that for you." Her fingers went
flying over the keyboard, and then she said, "You're all set."
Still too stunned to accept this result, I managed to say, "The
bursar has a hold on my diploma because they want me to pay for that
extra..."
She pulled out a memo pad and wrote a memo to the Bursar saying I
was only registered for two courses this semester. Sunlight came
streaming in the windows as the heavenly host descended on the office,
singing joyous and awe-inspiring melodies of triumph and glory, and
pushing the odor of death away. Momentary thoughts like, "Gee, doesn't
the software check if I'm actually registered for a class before it drops
me?" and so on were dispelled by the multitude of voices singing in
perfect harmony around me. As if completely unaware of this, she held
the memo out with her signature and calmly said, "Next!"
With the chorus of angels behind me, I once again delved into the
depths of hell, and arriving at the Bursar's office, I held out the
memo, which radiated a light as pure as gold.
The receptionist, also seemingly completely unaware of the choir,
which was now doing the choral section of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony,
("Ode to Joy"), quickly signed a memo releasing the Bursar Hold on my
diploma, actually smiled in response to my "Thank You", which was
barely audible over the majestic German verses, and said, ever so
nicely, "Next!"
--
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