I was an idiot, thought Arthur, laying down on his cheap cot, trying to wave the bugs away from his face, and remembering the wonderful life he had before foolishly coming to this backwater colony.  Ever since his youth, Arthur Bailey knew he was destined for something glorious, something that would make the heroes of the olden times bow their heads in respect, something that would show the world his true strength and power, something… indescribable.  Having been born to wealthy parents in London, he was given all the tools for success: the finest tutors, admission to some of the best academies in all of Britain, and a brilliant brain. Working hard throughout his academic career, he was able to pass the test to become a member of the Colonial Service, specifically the Indian Civil Service, the most elite group of them all.  There, in the vast, untamed, and profitable sub-continent, he saw the gate to his future fame. From there, he would build his legacy. After two years of training, he was finally able to sail to India. His entire family was so proud of him and saw him off. While he was sad to leave behind his homeland, he was ecstatic with anticipation. He had already created a few flowcharts in order to help plan out his career path, eventually leading to Supreme Leader of the British Colony of India, or whatever the official equivalent was.

Instead of being greeted by the smell of opportunity, he was meet with the hot soup that entered his lungs with every breath, the horrors that called the subcontinent home, from the deadly cobra and the murderous wasps to the mosquitos and the virulent cholera, and a temperature that was somehow worse than England’s blazing summers. An even worse surprise was when he discovered monsoon season; on top of everything else, Arthur now had to prevent what little possessions belonged to him from becoming a re-enactment of Noah’s Ark.

After about two days of humidity, sunburn, and bug bites, Arthur became determined to be promoted out his personal hell.  I don’t care where I get promoted or transferred too, as long as it's cold, he constantly thought.  From acting as an errand boy/negotiator to cleaning the latrines, Arthur tried to be noticed by his superiors, but to no avail.

“Bailey!” yelled one of his fellow cadets, hitting the wall of his tent, “Stephens needs you in his office!”  Like a bullet, Arthur dashed to District Administer Edward Stephens’ office, almost forgetting to put his boots on.  

To call it an office, or to call the camp a government establishment, was only slightly true.  In reality, it was just an old, patched-up tent that was marginally taller than everyone else’s with a Union Jack on top, and the “government establishment” was just that tent surrounded by tents (in somehow worse conditions) on the outskirts of some town.  District Administer Stephens himself was one of the shortest men in the ICS; it was a miracle that in his youth he was able to mount a horse, let alone pass the horse riding skills test. Slouching over his desk, and sitting on top of an English and Indian version of The Oxford Dictionary, he was drinking hard whiskey, reading a magazine of reprehensible content, and generally ignoring and avoiding anything related to his job.

“PERMISSION TO ENTER, SIR!” hollered Arthur, hoping to impress the District Administer.  Having nearly had a heart attack, Stephens hurriedly hid everything in his desk, put his superficial monocle back on, and groomed his thick, bushy, white mustache.

“Yes, yes,... you may- um, enter, cadet,” Stephens said, trying to recover his composure and his sobriety.

“Thank you, sir.  I understand that you have an assignment for me, sir.”

“What?... Oh, of course.  Of course I do. It’s right…” muttered Stephens, rapidly looking for some papers, “...here.  Are you familiar with the...um...what do we call the really bad snakes?”
“Cobras, sir?”

“Ah, yes.  Good job, cadet.  You passed my pop quiz.” Arthur internally sighed.  “Well, Parliament has passed the Indian Protection and Improvement Act, and in here…” Stephens said, moving his hand over the lines, “under Section VI, Sub-section I, Part 3,- wait, no, that’s not it… Section XX, Amendment IX, sub-clause A,... no, that’s wrong too...”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

“In the interest of time, can you give me the summary of the section, sir?”

“Um...no, no, that wouldn’t work.  Instead, let me give you the synopsis of the section.”

“Brilliant idea, sir,” Arthur said, trying his hardest to not rip the small man apart for incompetence.  How on Earth did this buffoon advance through the ranks, but not me?!? he thought.

“Yes, so, in essence, we have decided to try to clear out the cobra problem by offering monetary rewards for the things.  I… I mean we, need you to help us… um…”

“Implement?’

“Yes, implement the law.  This is a great opportunity for you.  Do the thing,…well, you know? You are dismissed, cadet.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  Oh, tell the others officers to leave me be.  I have… important matters to settle.”

Arthur left the tent annoyed but somewhat excited.  He had never done a task of this magnitude before, although that wasn’t saying much.  Still, it shows that at least the higher-ups are starting to notice my hard work, thought Arthur.  Or maybe Stephens is just more plastered than usual.  Requesting all his needed supplies and packing his bag, the last thing Arthur had to do was put his uniform. More specifically, he had to wear the full dress variant, which also happened to be the variant Arthur hated the most. While it looked quite nice, with its navy blue embroidered coat, navy blue pants, white gloves, white helmet with a golden spike protruding from the top, and black shoes, what it had in style it lacked in practicality.  It was stiff, heavy, uncomfortable, and provided no ventilation for the wearer; the British government had somehow made it even more uncomfortable to be in India, which was quite the accomplishment. Of course, there were more practical and useful variants, but the higher-ups insisted that he wear this torture device to “properly represent the British Empire”, much to his dismay. Nevertheless, Arthur was thoroughly prepared and ready to complete his task.  Having read through the terms of the law, it seemed fairly simple and straightforward. Even though there were hundreds of Princely States in India, it appeared that the administration had only assigned him to work with one local prince.  How hard could it be to put the law into effect?

Arthur lugged all his equipment to the train station, hoping that he could quickly ride to his destinations and get this assignment done with.  Looking at the train schedule, he was confused when he could not find his destination. After asking around, Arthur discovered that, much to his dismay, there were no train lines to any of his destinations.  That meant only one other way was possible to travel across the subcontinent: by camel. Arthur could feel his stomach bubbling with dread already. While Arthur did pass the horse riding part of ICS qualification test, it was really only because everyone one else had fallen off of their horses and the supervisor felt he needed to pass someone, no matter how (in)competent they were.  In reality, Arthur was terrible at riding any creature that man had domesticated, especially camels. He barely could control them, tended to get seasick on land while on their backs, and they had a tendency to spit on him. Still, Arthur trudged onward, determined to accomplish his goal.

After many hours of hot arid wastes, camel spit, dehydration, and projectile vomiting, Arthur finally made it to his destination; the state ruled by Nawab Ashutosh Mayadev.  Arriving at the entrance, he encountered the fortress guards.

“Halt!” the burly guard screamed in Hindu, “Who are you and what is your business here?”

Deciding to impress the measly guard, he responded likewise in Hindi. “Goodbye, my friend!  It is I, Bailey the Arthur, cleaner of the Hindi trash. As such, I seek to take care of your parents.  May I come in?”

He never was very good at speaking Hindi.

“So, you seek an audience with the Nawab?” The guard was able to interpret the garbage that came out Arthur’s mouth mainly due to the fact that this was not the first time a European had come to his doorstep, nor was Arthur the worst example.

“Yes. Again, may I enter?”
“Please present your identification papers.”

“...My what?”

“Your identification papers, sir?”  The guard sighed irritably, “By Allah, do you foreigners not even understand your OWN legal system?!? No, do not answer that, just listen to me.  Under The Indian Borders Act, Section 9, Subclause A, paragraph 10, all those seeking to enter our Nawab’s kingdom must have their identification.  Now step away from the gate or will use deadly force.”

After much failed negotiation, Arthur begrudgingly wobbled all the way back to the main camp, leaving behind him a trail of camel tracks and bile.  By the time he got there, it was already far into the darkness of night. Dragging his useless bag of organs around camp, he finally made it to Stephens’ office.  Too tired to care about “procedures” or “systems” or “politeness”, he simply floundered into Stephen’s “office”, quickly prompting Stephens to hide his ashtray.

“Cadet! What is the meaning of this intrus-”

“Sir, I apologize for my rudeness, but the guards of Mayadev…” Arthur tried to get enough energy to finish explaining, “said… I need… an ID of some sort?”

“What hogwash is this, Bailey?!?  I’ll teach you not to be disrespectful and lie to your superiors! I’ll have you court-martialed for th-”
“Urgent telegram for one Mr-um-Stephens!” screeched the young, skinny Hindi courtier.  Taking the parchment, Stephens read the message, and with every word he read, his face became redder and redder.

“Yes, ah, cadet, it seems I may have been… slightly less than correct than I thought.  However, you were still extremely disrespectful. Perhaps I can forgive your rudeness if you can forget the lecture I just gave and forget seeing a woman walk out of the tent.”

“Wait, what woman?!?”

“Exactly,” Stephens whispered, desperately trying to change the subject,  “Anyway, I apparently don’t have the paperwork to give the ID papers. Luckily for you, District Administer Richard Sutcliffe has some.  I think. Anyway, I expect you to up bright and early tomorrow to make your way to his camp. A four-hour sleep should completely rest you up.  It’s only 90 km east, nothing for a veteran like you.”

Holding back tears like when a man stubs his toe, he bowed slightly and pulled himself into the dining hall.  Talking to no one, his only thought was to complete this single mission. Finishing quickly, he crashed and slept soundly.

The sun had not even risen when Arthur began his trek once more.  The only thing that kept him awake was the desire to see his mission through, but mostly to not accidentally choke on his own vomit.  After accidentally getting lost in the sea of sand, he finally arrived at the camp, where he was confronted by a patrol of soldiers.

“I have an important request for District Administer Sutcliffe from Stephens.  Please for the love of god, let me in.” To Arthur’s pleasant surprise, the soldiers let him enter the camp.  There were no errands or running around or anything. Maybe things are finally going my way, he thought.  I mean, there’s even a cloud in the sky! A cloud!  Arthur headed toward the District Administers tent with newfound optimism.

“While I want to help you, I am far too busy to devote any resources to your cause,” Sutcliffe said flatly, completely obliterating Arthur’s optimism like a drop of water in the Indian desert.

“How can I help you help me?” Arthur said with fanatic determination, “Tell me exactly what to do and I’ll do it.  Anything. Just tell the me bloody situation, sir.”

“Eh, if you insist, cadet.” Sutcliffe said matter-of-factly, “Right now, I am trying to get some damn Prince to implement this one law but he just won’t do it.  I intend to make him follow that law, one way or another.”

“So, make the Indian King agree?  On it. Thank you. Bye,” Arthur slurred running out of the tent with a newfound energy.  He transferred this energy into his camel as he rode across the desert like an American Desperado.  This burst of energy and speed lasted an extremely short time as Arthur’s stomach started to punch him once more, forcing Arthur to go to at a slug’s pace.

Arriving at Sardar Vinay Nan XXXIII the Notable’s state, the first thing Arthur noticed was that the prince was completely unnotable.  Besides this minor protest against an insignificant law, he would have been lost to history. However, his servants did a fine job pretending otherwise.

“All stand and rise for Sardar Vinay Nan XXXIII, friend of the Hindi, descendant of the rightful ruler of the former kingdom of the former duchy of the former House of the former vassals of the…”  Arthur had completely lost track of what the steward was saying and completely lost interest, standing there through the 20-minute embellishment. Finally, the Prince came out. He came out in lavish silk robes and an ornate crown made out of gold.  Well, that explains the state of his “kingdom”, if you can call it that.  Despite the grand appearances of the ruler, his “dominion” consisted exactly of two farms, a well, fourteen small huts of various residency, three shops, and the palace.  The place looked as though it had hit rock bottom and then discovered there was a basement.

After the long and arduous ceremony, Arthur was finally able to approach the prince.

“Your Majesty, I am but a humble servant of the British Empire.  I know you have come into conflict with my Masters” My god, I hate sucking up to idiots. “Please, can you tell me why?”

“It is quite simple; when they refer to me and my lower peers, they spell Prince with a lowercase p, an inexcusable offense.”

“Oh great prince, how great this burden must b-wait a moment this whole affair is because of one word?  Please tell me you’re lying.”
“Of course not.”
Arthur sighed heavily.  “If I can get that one change, will you sign it?”

“Of course, my dear peasant.”

“Please excuse me.”  Running like the wind, Arthur jumped on his camel and charged all the way back to the camp, completely ignoring what his stomach felt.

“Officer Sutcliffe!” Arthur hollered with great joy, “I have wonderful news!  We just have to change one letter of the law and all are issues will be solved!”

“I am well aware of that.  However, it is nowhere in my power to change the law.  That mutinous traitor must agree to the terms as they are.”
Arthur then went back to the Sardar, who refused to abide by the terms and then sent him back to Sutcliffe, who refused to change the terms and sent him back to the Sardar, and so on.  This tedious and pointless cycle continued on for a few days until the Sardar, who was getting annoyed of Arthur’s constant visits, caved in and agreed. Overjoyed, Arthur rode as quickly as possible back to Stephens.  With the paperwork., all he had to do was get Stephens to sign it and he could FINALLY complete his mission.

He burst into Stephens’ tent, waking the small man from his sleep.

“Gah!  Oh, it’s you.  Please stop doing that, cadet.”

“Sorry, sir.  But please sign this paperwork.  With this, I can finally finish that snake law you asked me to do about a week ago!”

“The what?.... Oh, that thing,” he yawned, “Didn’t I tell you, cadet?  We are scraping the whole program”

It felt as though a dagger had just pierced Arthur's body. “What.”

“I don’t know the details, but essentially the locals were breeding cobra to cheat us out of our hard-earned cash.  Well, you won’t need these papers anymore,” Stephens said, ripping them apart, “However, for your effort, I have been authorized to give you a monetary reward.  Here you go,” It was pocket change, “and don’t spend it all one place. You may return to your tent, cadet.”

Arthur limped his way slowly back to his tent, threw himself on the cot, and cried.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The Bureaucracy Effect

Written by Zachary Wiles, Assistant Junior Senior Assistant to the First Senior Assistant Manager of the Ministry of Knowledge, Ignorance, and Public Relations.  Appointed as per the McGuffin-Fraser Act, Article 24, Subsection 5, Clause X, Subclause 256, Act 4.

Writing approved by Peter Willis, Senior Assistant Art Approver to the Junior Management Assistant First Approver of the Ministry of Grammar and Literature.  Appointed as per the Wiles-Olkowski Act, Page 4, Article 21, Section 14, Subclause 10, paragraph 6.

Writing Un-approved by Archibald Johnson, Junior Management Assistant First Approver of the Ministry of Grammar and Literature.   Appointed as per the Wiles-Olkowski Act, Page 4, Article 22, Section 22, Subclause 81, paragraph 4.

Writing Re-approved by Frederick Hobson, Minister of the Ministry of Grammar and Literature

Edited by Sir Octavius Albert William Matthew Mark Luke John Longbottom, Assistant Minister to the Minister of the Ministry of Conciseness and Efficiency

Re-edited by W[REDACTED], [REDACTED] Administer to the [REDACTED], appointed by [REDACTED], Ministry of Censorship.

Re-re-edited by Sir Benjamin Dover, Minister of the Ministry of Public Decency

Published by The Ministry of Printing and Publishing

Jokes By Joseph Mama, First Junior Senior Manager Assistant Administer Second Class Troper to the Second Senior Junior Assistant Manager Director First Class Supervisor of the Ministry of Running Gags and Tropes.  Appointed as per the TV-Tropes Act, Page 7, Article 24, Chapter 6, Subclause f(x)=(x-2)^2, Zone Yes, Article No, INSERT JOKE HERE, why are you still reading this, you put your right hand in, you pull right hand out, you put right hand in, and you shake it all about.  You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about.

Results may vary.  Terms and conditions may apply.  Must be 18 or older to participate. Participating Locations.