I'm not the kind of guy who thinks
regulations are all bad. I mean, some organization is helpful. Yes, I
believe people obeying “stop” signs and only going through
intersections when the traffic light is green are positive things for
a civilized society. Prohibiting someone from smoking in a hospital
room where oxygen is being administered seems like a fine idea to me,
too.
The problem, as I see it, is that one
regulation leads to two and two to four and so on and so forth. There
seems no end to the aspects of our lives that someone doesn't think
another rule will improve. The reason for regulations multiplying is
that once a regulation or two is in place, some sort of oversight
follows closely behind. This oversight often means creating a
committee, bureau, department or squad to do the overseeing. It's the
human factor that always – not sometimes, but always – leads to
mischief.
What you end up with is a person or
people sitting around attempting to justify his, her or their
existence, in turn, keeping themselves in a job. Factor in those who
are a bit power hungry, lording over their little fiefdom like a mall
cop, and you have set the stage for a relentless expansion of the
number and the parameters of rules, policies, regulations et al. Toss
in a little power abuse for good measure and you are well on your way
to a healthy dose of tyranny.
I've been on a tear recently about
bureaucrats of all stripes. They can be found in businesses,
industries, governments and associations of virtually any type. They
may be drones just “following orders,” enforcers of some sort
sent out into the world to whip the unwashed into line, or decision
makers always on the ready to inflict on others their thoughts of how
things should work.
Here are three examples of bureaucratic
cancer I encountered recently that highlight the problem:
Example No. 1. I was driving out of the
Florida Keys on Rt. 1 in Tavernier, when I noticed two
45-mile-per-hour speed-limit signs no more than 12 inches apart. One
was a bit taller and somewhat larger than the other, but it was a
major dose of redundancy so blatant that I had to pull over and snap
a photo. The only thing that might have made it more ridiculous is if
there had been a notice prohibiting parking between the signs.
I have no clue what installing that
redundant sign might have cost. You've got the cost of the sign, the
pole and the labor to assemble the two pieces. Someone had to take
the time to decide a sign was necessary and choose where to install
it. Paperwork was issued, studied, approved, filed: all requiring
someone's time. A crew was scheduled and the equipment needed for the
job secured. On the appointed day, fuel was consumed, man hours
burned and traffic delayed. I'm guessing the total cost was somewhere
north of $1,000.
All a complete and total waste.
How does such a thing happen? At what
point in the process should someone have discovered the sign had
already been erected and pulled the plug? Was the paperwork on the
first sign misfiled? Did the work order specify the wrong location?
Did separate agencies – county vs. state vs. municipality –
order the same sign? Did the foreman of the second crew misread the
work order? I guess any number of reasons for the second sign being
installed nearly on top of the first are possible.
But once the crew wound up in the very
same spot where the first sign already stood, why did the work
proceed? How could anyone with even a smidgen of intellect, see the
first sign standing there and not think, hey, I believe there's a
sign already here. Even if the foreman wasn't empowered to make
the smallest of decisions in conflict with the work order, why
wouldn't he call his boss to request further instructions? If he did,
why would he have been told to finish the job?
This is the sort of mindlessness that
gives functionaries a bad name.
Example No. 2. I recently changed
homeowner's insurance carriers from State Farm to Travelers. State
Farm has raised my annual premium by 10% to 14% each of the past four
or five years. One of the reasons I left South Florida was to escape
insurance premiums doubling or tripling over a five- or six-year
period.
I provided an insurance search engine
some of the particulars, sat back and waited for my phone to ring.
And ring it did. One of the calls was from Travelers. The
enthusiastic young lady on the other end of this call asked a battery
of questions about my house, all of which I answered truthfully. By
the end of the 15-minute conversation, I had lowered my deductible
from $5,000 to $2,500, reduced my annual premium by $150, and had my
MasterCard balance increased by the tune of about $600.
The young lady advised me that
Travelers might send an inspector to my house to verify it was as I
described it. No worries.
I gleefully canceled my policy with
State Farm, feeling quite proud of myself for overcoming my slacker
tendencies, taking some initiative and saving a bunch of money in the
process.
About six weeks later I received an
e-mail instructing me to call Travelers customer service about an
urgent issue with my insurance. I placed the call and was informed
that my policy was canceled effective August 25. When I inquired why,
I was told Travelers dispatched an inspector to my house who found
asbestos shingles on my shed. My shed?
Because of the shape of the shingles on
my shed, I considered the possibility they might be asbestos, but
wasn't sure. That being the case, though, my solution was simple:
Don't insure the shed. Apparently Travelers won't insure a house if
one of its outbuildings has asbestos siding because there was no room
for discussion. In fact, there was no solution available. Even
removing the shed wasn't an option. I had dared to apply for
insurance at Travelers for a house with an asbestos shingle-covered
shed and was now persona non grata in its eyes. The die was cast, the
policy canceled and the remaining premium credited back to my credit
card.
The “customer service” person to
whom I spoke did have an idea when I asked exactly what I was
supposed to do now: “Call an independent agent,” he said as he
ended the call.
The fact that Travelers, after allowing
me to cancel my previous policy, would cancel me without offering the
option of removing the shed is the sort of “screw you” attitude
embraced by bureaucrats in all walks of life.
Example No. 3. On the Florida trip on
which I discovered the bureaucratic foul-up in our first example, I
was scheduled to fly out of Palm Beach International Airport to
Atlanta at 9:30 a.m. I arrived at the airport in plenty of time and
was in the gate a little after 8:00. The plane boarded on time and we
were settling in when one of the flight attendants announced that an
FAA inspector had made a spot inspection of the plane and found a
slight issue that had to be addressed before the plane could push
back from the gate.
About 20 minutes went by when a second
announcement told us the problem was small – so sufficiently small
the crew wouldn't have held the plane for it – but the FAA
inspector was insisting it be fixed. The source of the problem
couldn't be found, we were told. Passengers with close connections in
Atlanta were encouraged to deplane and make new arrangements.
I called Delta to see what my options
might be. I was going to land in Atlanta and drive the 155 miles
home, so I didn't have a connection issue. The Delta rep I spoke with
advised me to hang tough; the problem was minor and probably would be
fixed soon. Another 30 minutes ticked by.
I finally gathered my things and walked
off the plane. Wi-Fi is free at PBI; I wanted to get online and do a
few things. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
|
125 people attempting to get their flights changed. |
I watched as the estimated-departure
time moved to 10:30 then 11:00 and then noon and then on to 1:00. At
the 11:00 mark, I called Delta again to try to get backed up on
another flight in case this one was canceled. I was informed that the
earliest flight on which I could broker a seat was a little after
6:00. I had them back me up on that flight and continued to wait.
Finally around 1:15, they announced the source of the problem had
been located. But – in the words of Peewee Herman, “There's
always a big but” – the solution was replacing a battery and that
battery had to be ferried the 50 miles from Ft. Lauderdale airport to
PBI.
We finally reboarded the plane and were
in the air by 3:00. I arrived in Atlanta just in time to be thrust
into rush hour traffic, adding about 30 minutes to the usual 2.5
hours it takes to make the trek home.
The problem, it turned out, was a
couple of the lights showing the way to one of the exits in the main
cabin weren't operating. It was a non-issue in terms of the plane
operating safely. Delta wouldn't have grounded the plane for it, but
sadly, some squint-eyed functionary puffed up his chest and ruined
the day's travel plans for about 200 people.
Power – any amount of power – in
the hands of small-minded people is never a good thing.