Well, where do I start? There comes a point where it all stops being funny. This morning, as I had been instructed, I went to the Prefecture. I arrived bang on 9.00am and got a wee ticket. I was number 811. I waited for 50 minutes for my turn, but I was absolutely fine about that. I just watched people, and worked out which woman I hoped I got, and which one I definitely didn't want. Well, you know Murphy's Law, don't you.....? I got the rudest person I have met so far. I asked if she spoke English and she snapped that no, this was France and she spoke French! (She is working in a area where they deal with foreigners on a daily basis, but far be it for me to suggest how they do their business.) And that's fine; so she couldn't speak English. But wouldn't you think she could have spoken slowly for me? Nah! Don't be silly. She rolled her eyes, spoke aggressively, kept telling me I had it all wrong..... I just kept smiling, hoping that would do the trick. (Rhonda Dickson's mother told me that I had a smile like Elaine Miscall who was Miss New Zealand in 1963. I'm afraid it was not effective in this instance however! Darn!) Anyway, she wanted my bank attestation again, and I had it. But no, once again there was an insistence that it be in euros. I explained the whole, 'well, we use dollars in New Zealand' story, but she wouldn't budge. Why didn't I have a French bank account? I explained that I had decided that it was easier to just load my credit card account and draw out cash and use that. Which has been working just fine. Well, it apparently isn't just fine! I also said that as it was proving very difficult getting a carte de sejour I didn't need to go through another difficult process. She seemed quite surprised when I said that. Whatever could I mean? She also wanted to know where my Social Security card was. "Ah," I said. I was organised here. I was able to explain that I had been to the person at the uni who Knows About Such Things and I showed her my student card and where the social security card part was. WRONG! I am not a student, I am a visitor, and I had to get a social security card. "Where do I go for that?" I asked. SHE DIDN'T KNOW!! I also asked if I needed to have the chest x-ray that they were wanting, as I had one done in November. She didn't know that either and didn't care. Anyway, as my visa extension expired today she made me another extension. "Des photos?" she barked. Well Ian, thank goodness for that little Italian photo booth where I used up the extra credit and got some more photos taken 'just in case'. It meant I actually had some photos with me. Then when all was done from her perspective, I did the unthinkable. I told her that I had changed my address. Originally we had all decided that it would be easier to pretend that I was still living with Therese and Jean, but as they are often away and I sometimes get mail from the Prefecture I thought that I had better officially change my address. Well!!!! Eyes rolled, she shouted, she went and told the woman in the booth next door.... When did you move? Before Christmas, I replied. (Quite a lot before Christmas in fact!) So now I need to go through the whole business again of Marie-Helene and Christian showing power bills etc, which I had to do before.
So. I thought I did very well in that I only bought one small piece of chocolate on the way home. I called in to tell M-H about it all, and she was furious. To cut a long story short she has been on the phone to all and sundry and is currently waiting for someone to phone her back. It is almost at the point where I need to contact the NZ embassy. I actually think that the main problem today was the woman's rudeness. Is it really necessary??
So I now need to have another medical on February 4th, and possibly another chest x-ray too. We will see. I'm not sure what else I need to do, but I suspect that they may want to know my children's birth weights and the names of all the cats I have owned since 1973. Jacket, one that got run over in Marsden Road whose name I don't recall, Sally and Jessie. (Actually, you don't really own cats, do you? They own you.)
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6 comments:
Oh man! That is so terrible. maybe it's time to go to the newspaper and talk about the terrible treatment foreign students are receiving in France. Perhaps at the end of the year you get a Diploma in Diplomacy for all the red tape and rude people you encounter. I will have to check with Dorothy but I think she said her nephew, who was in France last year, never ever got his Cart de sejour and seemed to survive without it. What will happen if you don't have one?
I don't know - it just might be tricky if I go out of the country and want to get back in. But it did occur to me that I should just keep getting visa extensions...
I feel like flying over and doing some permanent damage to such an awful b......... I often tell people I work with when they're moaning about agencies and the like, that no-one gets out of bed in the morning and thinks to themselves how can I do a bad job? - But maybe I'm wrong. What a friggin' COW.
Wow!!! that is crazy! It actually sounds just like Qatar. And i thought we were special here with all the crap and super rude treatment. Damn!
I've just discovered the expression "elle était aimable comme une porte de prison". Quite apposite for la chère dame de la Préfecture, n'est-ce pas?
Oui, je le pense! She was much more of a problem than the system.
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