<!--
	Title: Bureaucracy: A Paranoid Fantasy
	Source: QuestBusters, v4(5)
	Date: May 1987
	Transcription by Steve Derby
-->

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the printer with this month's
issue—I got stuck in the toughest adventure from Infocom since
*Spellbreaker*. I'm not saying it's that hard, but it is definitely tougher than
*Moonmist*, *Hinjinx* and *Leather Goddesses* combined.

The opening "scene" of Douglas Adams' second adventure is decidedly odd:
The program informs you that you are not authorized to use it, so you have to
fill out an onscreen License Application Form before proceeding. Instead of just
working your name into the game, the program also incorporates other
information from the form into the game in a number of new ways. (And goofs on
you as you fill in the form: When I typed in the name of my present
girlfriend, it said: "What a dog!")

The street name and number entered on the form became the name of the first
location, a new apartment I had just moved into, and the rest of the locations
outside had the same street name. I was soon roaming up and down Elgin Court
searching for my mail, which had been forwarded to the wrong address.
Collecting mail from each house on the street is the goal of the opening game, in
which I had just been hired by Happitech, Inc. A letter included with the packaging
said Happitech was sending me to an employee training course in Paris.
Obtaining the ticket from the local travel agency was a snap, but I soon realized I
needed money for a cab to the airport, and the only way to get that was to find the
$75 that Happitech sent—in the mail.

First stop was a stamp collector, who proved easy enough to lure away from his
home so I could grab a valuable piece of his mail: a copy of *Popular Paranoia*
magazine. The useful part of it was one of those little yellow Postal Service
stickers, this one bearing the letter "C." Similar stickers on mail from other
houses hold the key to solving a puzzle later on.

## *Rambo Meets Woody*

But Elgin Court, I learned, is inhabited by some of the most paranoid people on
the planet, who made the task extremely frustrating. Especially the heavily-armed
weirdo who looks like a combination of Woody Allen and Rambo. And the one
living in the fortified house, where a voice from the intercom kept repeating:
"A radio is connected to my brain." Next door to that is a llama farm,
which I had never noticed on Elgin Court before. You can go to the bank and try to
get the situation straightened out. Try, I say, because signs in half the windows
say "Next Window Please," and when I found one devoted to change-of-address
forms, the teller said I had already filled one out-so they wouldn't let me fill out
another one. I tried calling the bank from home, and the only "person" I got to talk
to was Bongo, the bank dog!

*Bureaucracy* is so frustrating, Adams included a "score" that represents your
frustration level. Each time you do something that doesn't work, your blood
pressure goes up one point. (This is yet another example of Infocom's penchant
for self-satire.) After a few successful actions, your blood pressure returns to
normal. The game is not overly deadly, but you can get killed when you least
expect it-like when you try to stiff the cabbie at the airport, which is an
inventive enough death that everyone should experience it at least once.

While struggling to retrieve the mail from a politically-obsessed macaw, an
elephant gun-toting matron, and other local wackos, you can talce a break and
relax at the keyboard of your Boysenberry computer. Pop in the adventure game
cartridge called *Dork I* before you trade it for another program in the nearby
software shop. You also get an eclipse predictor cartridge that may be handy
when (it) you ever reach the exotic land of Zalagasa, site of the next such
astronomical event. Then again, it could be yet another of Infocom' s infamous red
herrings.

Every time you step outside your door you will be accosted by a whining
computer nerd who wants to sell you the latest peripheral, software or other piece
of computer paraphernalia. The nerd turns up again later, when you get a
chance to do some serious hacking yourself. If you've ever wanted to tamper
with the innards of an online data base, this game offers a far more satisfying
outlet than *Hacker*.

While most of the puzzles are object-oriented, some require a series of actions
that don't involve object manipulation in the usual sense. (For an example, see
William Carte's clues in <u>Keys</u>) Top score is 21 points. Did I say 21? Yes,
this is the lowest top score seen in an Infocom game since *Zork III*, whose
seven measly points proved nearly unattainable to This Adventurer. Ratings
are granted as you progress. When you type in score, the result is something
like: "Your blood pressure is 124/82 in 220 moves. Your status is stable. Your
score is 5 out of a possible 21, making you a victim."

## *Flight 42, Where Are You?*

Much of the humor emerges from Douglas Adams' warped view of what is
often referred to as reality. He describes a travel agent, for instance, as someone
who waits "for customers to explain where they want to go and how they want
to get there so she can get a large commission for misunderstanding
everything and sending them to Djarkarta." (Be sure to kick the travel
agent.) The airport and airplane scenes are genuinely hilarious, not just just
funny, and the only thing I missed was being harassed by Moonies and Laroucheoids.
Many situations in the game reminded me of the film *Brazil*, which
took place in a future where nothing could be accomplished without filling out
the proper form in triplicate and having it stamped by the correct agency.

Adams' twisted humor infiltrates the scene whenever you type an unacceptable
command. Instead of reading that "you don't need the word 'mango' to complete
this story," I was told that "you need special permission to use the word
'mango' in this story." Breaking the door, I learned, "is not permitted without
permission in triplicate from Infocom, Inc." And I was threatened with a visit
from a legion of attorneys bent on suing me for destruction of Infocom property
when, admittedly desperate, I attempted to "cut bird with hacksaw." Kicking the
door, it turns out, is a "violation of the Cambridge Convention, which prohibits
it in humorous games" (What? Infocom actually called one of their programs a
game instead of a story?).

*Bureaucracy* was written by Douglas Adams, who was inspired (though he
would probably choose a different word) by a real-life incident, and the staff of
Infocom. Infocom says that, "it's not clear who helped the most. Some say it
was Marc Blank; others blame Brian Moriarty. Chris Reeve and Tim
Anderson did SOMETHING, while Jeff O'Neill, Jerry Wolper and Paul DiLascia
played more nebulous roles." The manual names only "Original
Implementer Fred Morgan" as co-author, but this turns out to be an inside joke:
Fred Morgan is a nickname for the DEC 20 mainframe on which Infocom's
programs are developed.<br>
**Conclusions:** I get the feeling Douglas Adams spends a fair amount of
time online these days, for a number of puzzles revolve around that activity. He
also takes plenty of shots at computers, nerds, software salespeople, software and
computing in general. Though the setting and story line are a far cry and
hundreds of light years from *Hitchhiker's Guide*, *Bureaucracy* displays the same
warped sense of humor. If you enjoy humor with a point of view (paranoid as
it may be) and puzzles whose solutions don't leap out at you the first time you
face them (or the second, or third...), you will certainly have fun tracking down
your mail, feeding llamas and hacking your way through a Zalagasan jungle.

<hr style="border-top: 4px double;">

**System:** C-128, Amiga, ST, IBM, Apple, Mac (128K except Mac-512K)<br>
**Skill Level:** Expert<br>
**Price:** $34.95, C-128; $39.95, others<br>
**Company:** Infocom
