Today's topic: beaurocracy. Discuss.

Yesterday I was filling something out on a Web site that required me to put down my college GPA. As some of you already know, I had a major that didn't give out grades -- it was supposedly taught in a colloquium style á la ancient Greece and we were evaluated in words instead of numbers, but this is not today's topic so we can discuss that later -- thus making it difficult for me to fill in the required portions of the GPA screen. I try leaving it blank, typing N/A, clicking on the nav bar to try to skip it and jump to a different section. No dice. Can't get past it. I call the office of the place of the online thing. I get through to the right person, and I'll give the other people in the office credit because everyone was really nice and attempting to be helpful except, perhaps, this guy. Here is a brief transcript of our conversation:

Me: Blah blah blah here is my whole story what should I do?
Him (abrupt): Try leaving it blank.
Me: I did. That doesn't work.
Him (more abrupt): Try typing N/A.
Me (trying to be jokey): I did. That doesn't work.
Him (getting annoyed): Try skipping that section entirely.
Me (feeling dumb for trying to joke with an individual obviously incapable of amusement): I did. That doesn't work.
Him (getting more annoyed): Well, what do you think your GPA would have been?
Me (intelligently): Huh?
Him: If you had had a GPA, what would it have been? If you had gotten grades, would they have been good? Did you do well in college?

Now, let us pause for a moment to reflect. "Did you do well in college?" Excuse me? I don't know, did you, you dork?

Me (also getting annoyed): I guess so, but I really don't know how it would translate into—
Him: It doesn't matter, just make up a number. Do you think you would have gotten a 3.5? That's half A's and half B's.
Me: Well, see, I would prefer not to do that—
Him (thinking I am insane and not listening to what I'm saying): OK, then, just write that down. Just write down 3.5 in all the blanks and then make a note telling whoever looks at it that *I* told you to do that.

Another pause: Since he is obviously oh-so familiar with the online process, he must realize that there's not actually a lot of opportunity to write mash notes to the people reviewing the finished product. These people are going to be making an important decision about my future based on this thing. There are big, mean disclaimers all over every piece of material in this thing about how important it is that you stick to the format, that your social security number and date of birth and your randomly-assigned 36-digit number be in the upper right-hand corner of every single thing, and that if they're not, it will certainly be counted against you because there are so, so, so many prospective candidates trying to do the very thing you want to do.

Me: I'm sorry, but I don't really know where a notation like that would fit into the online application. You'll be receiving a copy of my college transcript, which kind of makes this part unnecessary anyway — how about if I just fill out the regular paper forms. That way I could write N/A.
Him (no longer listening): No, no, we want everything to be online. Was that all? -- doesn't wait for answer -- thanks. Good luck.

*Dial tone in my ear*.

Grrrrr beaurocracy grr.