Finally French, with a Few Flaws
Oh, my horoscope is right:
TAURUS (April 20-May 20): I usually don't have to tell you Bulls how important it is to finish what you've started. You are, after all, among the top three signs of the zodiac when it comes to following through. But just in case you've momentarily fallen under the sway of a delusion that would encourage you to escape before the resolution is fully in place, I'm here to remind you: It's time to make the art of completion your graceful obsession.
I had to fire a colleague from conference planning and now am on my own as the leader of the event, but have learned so many good lessons from this: delegate, communicate, and then, move on if all else has failed.
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So, the firing was Wednesday night. Thursday, I was tired and grumpy when I got up, and it trickled down all day until an outburst that wasn't so nice. Short on rest and finally fed up, I reached a point of no longer being patient with all things French (or Parisian).
The carte de sejour. It's a brutal process to re-apply for the residency permit, but it's made a bit easier at school because there's one poor, sweet woman who attends to all the students (between select hours) for our applications. I remember seeing her last year after waiting for 4 hours one day, and then on another day after a 2-hour wait. The first time I didn't even make it in to see her. After 4 hours waiting, she came out of her office and apologized, but it was the end of the day and she wouldn't be seeing any more students. The second time I made sure I had all the necessary paperwork to ensure I wouldn't have to return - and I didn't! Got the temporary letter of permission, followed it with the doctor visit, and then got the official card to say I could stay in this country.
So, now I'm renewing, which should be easy. But, no bureaucratic thing in France is. I went for my first visit two weeks ago. With about 12 people in line, she wasn't accepting any more applicants at the 3pm hour. Left defeated and irritate. It's about a fifteen-minute walk from class - not much, but it becomes a lot when you're squeezing it in between class, lunch, class.
Returned last week and got in line behind ten people. Waited patiently, got some good work done, and finally got my chance. Had everything needed but a 3-month set of bank statements - I imagine the French government wants to assure spending within its borders or enough money to weather the financial crisis.
While I waited there were like 10 legitimate people for their first visit and repeated line-cutters who only had a few papers to turn in after being turned away with instructions for return.
She's a sweet paper lady, the carte de sejour woman. Does she have a name plate? Nope. Do we know her name on her door? No. She's like anon carte de sejour lady. Smiling even while I could barely write my name for lack of food, which produced hand shaking. She is patient and even-spirited. I'm sure she drinks a whole bottle of Pinot Noir each night and must smoke a pack a day just to get through, although I'm not sure when she'd find time for a break.
Yup, everything in order but the bank statements - a new turn for this year.
So, I came back about a week later. Asked the waiting students how the day was going and realized we had a first-timer, and two who just needed to drop their additions off - bank statements or other papers. Gradually, over the hour I was there, more and more people came and thought they had the right to just go to the office and basically jump the line. I tried my horrible French to ask what they were there for and to indicate that, yes, we were all here for a carte de sejour, which humbled most into getting in line. After about a half-hour with the first-timer in the office, trying to navigate in broken French and English between carte de sejour lady and the applicant, people started to lose their patience. The Aussie gal was like, I'm gonna get sacked if I don't make it back to work. I was corralling people into line. The Canandian boy was too timid to coral and admitted it. The last woman was Chinese, who unfortunately supported my style of dictating to the others.
After explaining to two students, I told the Aussie and the Canadian waiting that it was their turn to keep watch and explain. Aussie had perfect French and convinced a Russsian girl to leave due to time constraints. The Canandian got nowhere and never spoke.
I let the Aussie jump me to get her paperwork in and get off to her job. Then, a woman showed up and I informed her we were all in line for the same thing. She acknowledged and yet still waited at the open door. After the first-timer left, the Aussie went in and was rounding up her paperwork, and then - after me waiting there an hour and half - the French woman took a step inside the office. I know where it came from, from the bottom of my belly, from desperation, from tiredness, from justice, from impatience, from what is right. I jumped up and cut her off and had a heated explain in Franglo (French-English combo) that, dude, she might just have to "posé une question" but we all to just pose a question so get in line, woman. It was quite a complex exchange of my fumbling words and her defensiveness.
But after me not jumping the line, after being patient, after letting Aussie-freak-out-get-sacked, after all of it, I wasn't patient anymore. There is a process in the world - maybe not in France, but in the world there is respect for others and a degree of understanding that you have to wait your turn. And, maybe I was trying to transpose an American value, but dammit, I was fed up with the weird system I was subjected to. So, I Franglo'd my way through and she stormed out - after commenting that I didn't need to be so stressed, that all she had was a question, that it's not a big deal.
I entered to the empty seat opposite carte de sejour lady and she smiled, "Well (in French), I see you've been very patient. Thank you. Let's get this going." I informed her, with smiles and relaxed, that it was no big deal and that I'd be quick and all I had were my bank statements. She basically ignored the rest of my dossier (which she already approved, but generally wanted to look over in 2nd detail review), looked at the dates of my statements, approved, and signed a quick form.
It wasn't that I felt power at that moment, but that I felt justice. I'm still not used to this system where anything goes. Where the line at the post office all of a sudden becomes 2 strange lines because someone inches up alongside instead of behind and then thinks they can challenge you to the open window (when only 2 of 4 are open -- is this not just like Buenos Aires in 1988?). The lines at any window - a train station, a boulangerie - there's no form to them. They are layered and who cares who was there first - it's survival of the fittest - if you can edge up, you get served. So, damn me if I'm going to fight for that window then.
It was quite unusual for me. Even before entering carte de sejour hell, I'd spent 45 minutes in line at the post office to mail my election ballot. I'm patient. I'm even. I'm forgiving and I'm flexible. But only to a point.
I have started to understand the pattern of walking and transportation. It's like India, it seems like mass chaos, but people have their own patterns and rules for merging, signaling, crossing. In Paris, in Europe, the scooters take the free space of the roads or sidewalks, the cars merge quickly, the buses have a greater right if you don't beat them first, everyone has great brakes. Passing on the sidewalk there's no walk on the right, pass on the left. There is no order. It's free for all and each for their own - don't run over the bicyclist, don't rear-end the scooter, don't get rear-ended (and they are MUCH better drivers than in the USA). But it's a pattern I don't get yet. I still think it's more efficient to find a general agreement to path and passing. A conformist understanding. But they seem to make this chaos work. Not for me, not yet. So, when someone cuts the line, I take issue. Or, I took issue.
It felt good to defend myself, but I also felt tremendously like an a-hole.
I'm still not sure how to balance this.
Following this encounter, I was on my home, waiting for the bus. Three young girls, maybe ten or eleven years old, were goofing off waiting for the bus, too. One of them pushed another and she dropped her empty pop can on the sidewalk. They were giggling and pushing each other - you pick it up, no you. A mom walked by with her two kids and pointed the empty can to the girls and scolded them to pick it up. They laughed as she walked off and finger-pointed at each other again - you pick it up, no you. After I noticed that they were almost content to let it sit, I decided to say something.
Frankly, I'd been practicing this in my head since I saw a few juvenile boys launch their burger wrappers into the street. So, I turned to two of them, and said, "Mademoiselle, ça c'est pour la poubelle, c'est ne pas pour la rue." I'm sure this is wholly incorrect, but they both lurched for the can and picked it up and then giggle-fought over who had to deposit it. The bus came so I missed the end of it all. They got on and I read my homework the way home while listening to their giggles on the bus.
This felt less like power or old-lady-correcting, and more like, damn it, I like Paris and she gets trashed too often. Granted, there are paid sidewalk washers and street cleaners and poubelle picker-uppers, but people shouldn't just get lazy about it all. They'll still need the sidewalk washers and poubelle-picker-uppers since dogs still can't seem to pick up their own poops, and pigeons aren't trained yet, and there's still garbage in the poubelle. But at least we could stop adding to the crap.
I still felt like an a-hole. Who am I to think I can take a stand like this? I'm just a visitor. This isn't my country, nor my town. But I do like to abide by the "home is where I lay my head." So, I guess I do feel like I belong and I'd like to respect it.
My French has definitely improved though. So has my courage.
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