The Ministry of Microfilm

I always thought the IRS was the gold standard for bureaucracy, until I was introduced to the Ministry of Microfilm (MoM) and learned that microfilm is 21st century gold standard for document preservation. I came upon this crucial understanding at the dissertation formatting workshop I attended on Friday, which left me quite convinced that although the dissertation formatting office was obviously inspired by the IRS, MoM is indeed the final frontier of red tape. (Only in this case since color is strictly verboten, the tape must not be red. I'll explain in a moment.)

Although I don't actually have any words on paper beyond my dissertation proposal, I figured when the time came for text generation, I might as well have my margins correct. And since the workshop was 90 minutes, I assumed there must be more to it than 1-inch margins on all sides. Ha! What I didn't realize is that the Ministry employs thousands of office elves who fight over rulers and the chance to be the one to discover that a doctoral candidate's 12-point font is not actually 12 point, but 12.2 or something equally shocking. But this is not all. I also learned that any footnotes, subscripts or superscripts must be manually enlarged, and that leader dots must follow your table of contents, and that only one faculty member can be listed as your dissertation director even if you had two. (And did I mention that by the time you buy the special, hand-pressed, watermark paper and pay all the fees, it will cost well over $200 to submit the dissertation for final processing?)

As far as I can tell, however, the most egregious error one could make in dissertation formatting is attempting to insert color into your text. No, no. Dissertations are strictly black and white propositions. If you have a truly compelling reason for a dash of color, you have to fill out a form called "Letter of Exception for the Submission of Color Images." This important document has to be signed by approximately 63 people, including Joe Biden, Joe the Plumber, the Prime Minister of Zimbabwe, and the associate dean of your respective college.

Why all these rules? (And trust me, dear reader; I have mentioned only a small fraction of them.) Because microfilm is the 21st century gold standard for document preservation! As the graduate school dean astutely explained, "When Microsoft has ceased to exist, someone will still be able to read your dissertation on microfilm just by holding it up to a candle."

I'm pretty sure that these sacred microfilms are stored in an underground vault somewhere near Roswell, New Mexico where they are kept safe from flood, fire, alien invasion, or nuclear holocaust. What sweet comfort it will bring in time of affliction to know that although the world as we know it may cease to exist, my dissertation - my magnum opus -- will remain intact as a legacy to the never-ending pursuit of knowledge.

Thanks, MoM!