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Bureaucracy has become a hot topic after the recent publication of David Graeber¡¯s book The Utopia of Rules (¡°Compliant captives in a?paper cage¡±, Features, 21 May). In terms of form-filling, I would agree with his advice: if you suspect a form is ¡°pointless¡±, do not fill it out and wait to see what happens. You will probably cut out one-third of forms this way. But I think the apparent indignity experienced through filling out forms is a bit extreme ¨C purely administrative form-filling for the typical academic role is likely to take less than one hour per week. But I confess that when I am away from the university there can be nothing more frustrating than when an email arrives demanding my signature on a piece of paper.

Bureaucracy is an unavoidable effect of large-scale human organisation. Try to imagine a university without any records of its activities ¨C do you think this would lead to a better system? The challenge, as Graeber concludes, is how we can live playfully alongside bureaucracy ¨C creating a system that is sustainable and fair, but also open to creativity.

Mark Gatenby
Via timeshighereducation.co.uk

I suspect that Mark Gatenby has a greater tolerance of form-filling than I. The time-sheet system under which I toil is particularly soul-destroying in the utterly transparent nature of its pointlessness. I receive an automated reminder each month to fill in the hours that I¡¯ve worked across two projects. I am costed on to each for a particular percentage of time, and I?am left to assume that this percentage must be reflected in what I report. Not only is this impossible to do accurately, but were one to structure tasks according to a monthly time quota, rather than according to the demands generated by the project, one would be a terrible researcher. The bottom line: you must tell the system what it wants to hear, not what happened. Accordingly, I?ignore these requests. Then, every 12 months, I?get an email telling me that my time sheets ¡°need to be done¡±. I usually ask the sender why. They reply that they ¡°need to be done¡±.

I spend half an hour trying to remember my password (the system makes you change it regularly and not reuse old ones). I stew in my rage while I wait for the reset to arrive. I?experience a moment of pleasure when designing a new, expletive-ridden password. It lasts as long as it takes me to realise that the next time I won¡¯t remember this password.

In the spirit of resistance, I devised a means of maximal efficiency when filling out the time sheet. I divide the total monthly paid hours by the percentage I am formally allocated to each project. I then report working 18-hour days (the maximum it allows you to enter) for as many days as it takes to fill the required quota for each project. Every time I enter ¡°18¡± into a?box, I have to tab to the next box, at which point there is a second-long pause while the page saves the entry. In this second, I think about the fact that my life is finite and I¡¯m closer to death now than I was a second ago.

I end up with a time sheet that shows me working 160 hours in nine days and taking the rest of the month off. Despite my act of defiance, I am nevertheless furious, because the system accepts this absurd record as legitimate. The system is called ¡°AGRESSO¡±, as if the designers wanted me to know I¡¯m being trolled.

Murray Goulden
Via timeshighereducation.co.uk