If I have to fill out one more form, so help me God.
Humor Life

Forms Are the Devil, or Why Imma Stab the Next Person Who Makes Me Fill One Out

If I have to fill out one more form, so help me God.

I am so tired of filling out forms. So tired of it.

Sometimes I feel like it’s all I do, this filling out of forms. First it’s the forms for Ewing’s slew of doctors and therapists. Each form is pretty much the same — a detailed rundown of his medical history, my medical history, the damn dog’s medical history, and some distant relative 47 times removed’s medical history. ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE MEDICAL HISTORY.

Now it’s the forms for Alister’s back-to-school night, for Baby Sammich’s daycare, and for Ewing’s kindergarten registration. Each one is approximately 354 pages in length and requires what seems like a DNA sample and the sediment from an unexplored planet in a distant galaxy somewhere.

What in the hell?

There is never enough space to write down the information they’re asking for. It’s like they want me to cram my entire address, phone number, and place of employment onto a 2 cm line. And then I have to write down the phone number and address of every medical professional and caregiver who’s had contact with them since birth in an equally minuscule space. Like I have this stuff memorized? And why do they need the pediatrician’s address? Are they going to drive my kids there in the event of an emergency? No. No, they’re not.

And what’s with the questionnaires? The list of one million questions about when they took their first poo in the potty and what we do with them in their free time and what their favorite foods are? Is anyone actually reading this stuff? No, really. I want to know. Because I’m giving that person a quiz.

Perhaps most irritating is that these things have to be handwritten. In the 21st century. Why aren’t we doing this stuff online and then making copies for whichever agency requires the same information next? Seems like it would improve file storage and organization for everyone involved, not to mention greatly reduce the hand cramping that goes along with filling these damn things out.

If I didn’t have to complete these monstrosities every single school year and every single time I visited the doctor, I wouldn’t mind it so much. I wouldn’t even mind it if they could whittle these things down to only the most pertinent of information. And I especially wouldn’t mind if I thought somebody somewhere was actually reading this stuff. But as it stands, I do mind. I mind very much.

And the next person who gives me a form to fill out is getting cut. Probably.