Yet another reason why if my job was a human being I would choke it to death

I am employed as a proofreader. My job consists of reading documents and comparing them to the original draft, looking for discrepancies and errors. If we find one, we fix it. Sometimes something is wrong on the original draft or looks suspicious. In that case, we take the draft to a chief reviewer, who decides whether to fix the weird mistake or leave it alone. Sometimes, the chief reviewer is not sure whether to fix the weirdness, and he will send the lowly proofreader upstairs to editing, where the editor of the particular document ultimately decides the document's fate. I'm sure you're all still hanging on my every word, so I will continue. Just now, the most ridiculous bureaucratic monkeyshines tapdanced right into my lap and I am disgusted. I was infuriated, but the rage has simmered down to a more generalized quiet contempt. Sometimes, we get documents that are marked "Preliminary Draft." When they are marked this way, the document needs to say "Preliminary Draft" at the top. This particular document was marked "Preliminary Form." It had no heading at the top. I asked my boss if it should still get a "Preliminary Draft" heading when it's marked as a form and not a draft. She said that it should, but she called the head of typing to check. The head of typing also replied in the affirmative, but said that the head of our division, a micro-managing, petty buffoon of a woman, now wants us to take the document upstairs to editing and have them write in the "Preliminary Draft" heading on the document. So, even though I knew it was wrong, my boss knew it was wrong, and the head of typing knew it was wrong, I had to go upstairs and get an editor to make it right, who was baffled at why we didn't just fix it downstairs. WHY? Why the fuck does this happen? It's asinine. It's dumb. DUMB DUMB DUMB DUMB DUMB DUMB. I feel like I have the capacity to make this decision and fix it on my own, saving several minutes of time and getting the document where it's supposed to go faster. I didn't go to college so I could be treated like an insignificant peon or aid and abet a bureaucratic system of insufficient jackassery. I can make decisions. Maybe someday I will have a job that lets me make them. Instead, I work in a monotonous shit-cave run by idiots who throw up their hands helplessly when we run out of orange pencils simply because the company they usually buy them from stops carrying them. It took two years for a decision to be made. That decision: use the red pencils we already have. What a collection of supergeniuses.