Leaping black boxes in the great paper chase

RECENTLY, I’ve gotten addicted to a WeChat game called “Tiao Yi Tiao.” Is it an intellectually challenging game? Not really. It’s nothing more than a small black, rubbery figure jumping from box to box.

“Oh, but some of the boxes are small, and some are further away than others!”

I might protest after playing it until a notification popped up to suggest I take a break. “It’s harder than it looks!” But the truth is that it’s so simple, so perfectly simple, that it’s brilliant.

All you have to do as a player is to press down on the screen for varying amounts of time, and let the rubbery pawn-like piece jump. That’s it. And yet, despite this grotesque simplicity, I find myself absolutely engrossed. “That’s it?” I think to myself as I start a new game. “That’s really it?”

Am I drawn to this game because I really like jumping that much? Or because of the sound effects? The colors? The horrible competitive part of me that wants to get a high score, even for something meaningless?

No, I don’t think it’s any of the above: It’s the fact that it’s simple, unfettered forward momentum, which has become a novelty for me after being in the midst of the complex web of paperwork and procedures that is often my life in China.

My experience as a student at Zhejiang University is essentially the polar opposite of Tiao Yi Tiao. Rather than skipping across a clear line of boxes, I usually have to dart from office to office to make anything even remotely resembling forward momentum. There’s a form for everything. Each semester, there’s a form to prove that you deserve to keep studying. If you need time off because of illness, you better believe there’s a form for that. If you ran out of forms and needed to get more, there’s probably a form for that, plus some official-looking stamps for good measure. The point being: Nothing is ever straightforward, at least in my experience. There’s a form, a collection of signatures, a stamp, another signature, and then a form to prove that you filled out the form because at that point, why not? I’ve had to hunt down my advisor for his signatures more times than I can count, but if you were to ask me for what, I couldn’t say because I’ve already forgotten.

To be clear, I’m not criticizing the university, and can attest to how great it is (at least on an academic level). But for anyone who’s lived in China long enough, the concept of this paperwork labyrinth isn’t anything new. Any trip to the bank or to a hospital, or any time someone’s visa needs renewing will be much of the same. You get a number, wait in line, get a form, fill it out and wait in line, get it stamped, and it keeps going until eventually it’s done. I’m not complaining (much) because this is just how it’s done in China — something my dad simply could not understand when I got a series of urgent WeChat messages from classmates about school procedures that needed to be completed, and forms that needed signatures and stamps. “This seems excessive,” he said. I didn’t have a response because ... yeah, it kind of did.

Where did all of this come from? I might be tempted to blame the Monkey King — during his trip into the Underworld, he crossed his name out of the death records, thus ensuring he’d never die because it wasn’t in the system. From then on, probably every office worker had to print twice as many forms just to make sure that would never happen again. Maybe all of the paperwork is an elaborate homage to the earliest Chinese administrative system in the Qin Dynasty (221-206 BC) and the imperial exams that followed.

All I know is that whenever I go to America and have to call the bank, I’m always in for a shock. Whereas I’ve braced myself for what in China would be an hour-long trip at least, the phone call might last all of 10 minutes as the worker on the other end asks me why I’m complimenting his efficiency so enthusiastically.

The major (and perhaps only) perk to all of these administrative hoops is that they’re excellent incentive for entrepreneurs. I think about Alipay, and how if it had not been for the complex payment methods available before its arrival, it might never have been born. I mean, who knows? Some day, when I return to Zhejiang University to get a whiff of nostalgia, there could be a whole new system put into place that wouldn’t require students to jog between campuses for a couple of signatures. Or maybe Jack Ma will have invented an incredible app that totally reinvents the entire administration.

For now, I’ll keep playing Tiao Yi Tiao, and marvel at all of its wonderful simplicity. I’ll keep refreshing the screen and relishing how quickly the gratification comes. Most of all, I’ll enjoy how some things in China don’t have too many steps, they just have a series of jumps, and you just have to keep moving forward to make it to the next box.