“Little Wei? Please come to the Office of Logistics. Your request has been granted.”
“What request?” Little Wei was taken aback.
“That, that—” From the other end of the phone came the sound of sheets of paper being turned. Manager Wu read slowly in a solemn voice, “that request for the purchase of a kettle.”
“Oh, Good Heavens! This is what season now—the request has been granted! Last winter we had a heating stove in the office and the air was so dry that we needed a kettle badly. But now . . . ” Little Wei glanced at the fan shaking its head left and right and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, a crappy kettle took as long as half a year! Hey, Old Wu, did you send the request all the way to Beijing?”
Little Wei had never expected that the request for a kettle would require such long and convoluted procedures. The first time he made the request to the Office of Logistics, it was mid-November of last year. At the time, a certain Manager Zheng granted the request right away. However, after he had waited anxiously for half a month, not even a shadow of the requested kettle presented itself. So, he went to the Office of Logistics again. Manager Zheng wasn’t there. Another manager, Wang, closed the magazine Beyond the Eight-Hour Shift in his hands, took a drag on his cigarette, and said, rather businesslike:
“Comrade Wei, a kettle seems no big deal, but what if the other offices know about this and come and make the same request? Things could get out of hand.”
Little Wei almost lost it. “Why would they want kettles! They are all working in the new building with central heat. We are the only ones left behind in the old wooden house, and we are the only ones who need to have a heating stove.”
“This ‘us’ and ‘them’ mentality of yours . . . is . . . not conducive to unity!”
Little Wei was shaking all over with anger. He went to talk to Manager Wu, the Number One boss of the Office of Logistics, and got this as an answer: “Since the other two managers don’t seem to agree, you should send in a written request to the higher-ups for consideration.” This “consideration” lasted for more than five months! Yet the request had been granted, after all. Last winter was now long gone, but there would be winter this year for sure. Just in case something might happen at the last minute, Little Wei hurried to the Office of Logistics and filled out a receipt form in triplicate.
Manager Wu, holding his thermos cup, was studying the written request, filled to the brim with comments, when Little Wei stepped in. Wu raised his hand to smooth his thin, silvery hair, his dull eyes looking hard over the reading glasses on his nose, and said, reluctantly: “Nothing can be done about it. Bureau Director Zhao didn’t give specific instructions.”
“What kind of game is this? A crappy kettle has to be approved by Bureau Director Zhao?” Little Wei couldn’t believe his ears. He bent over Manager Wu’s shoulder and took a glimpse at the written request.
“Oh, my, it’s Director Zhao indeed. Hey, didn’t Director Zhao approve?”
“The word ‘approve’ is exactly the source of our trouble here!”
“How?”
Manager Wu took a sip from the cup and said, slowly, “Manager Zheng ‘approved’ the request; Manager Wang ‘disapproved;’ Chiefs Li and Zhou only checked their names on the written request; Deputy Director Sun ‘approved’ with a comment on the importance of ‘paying attention to working conditions of the masses;’ Deputy Director Qian had this to say: ‘Even a crappy kettle has to go through so much red tape. Ludicrous! How can we go on without streamlining government functions and rectifying our working style? I suggest using this case to start an education campaign among the cadres.’ Which of these did Director Zhao ‘approve’?”
“This. . . .”
(1982)