visiting the prefecture

December 15, 2008

Going to the prefecture (the office where one renews their visa to stay in the country) has never been a pleasant experience for me.  In Portugal, I used to call it, "The not nice place."  In Turkey and in the UAE, I simply had to leave the country and come back in.  No filling out paperwork and waiting for hours in an office where no one held the same values about hygiene as I do.

You may recall (or not), the time that Sue-Wee and I had to get in line at 4am in order to make an appointment to turn in our paperwork to apply to renew our visa.  I never did end up blogging about how it took four visits and a bunch of tears to pick up my new card back in May.  The prefecture that I had to go to in Paris, due to where I lived in Paris, is known for being the worst one in the whole country.  I've never gone and not watched a fight break out around me.  The workers there supposedly make the process as difficult as possible so that the immigrants who are coming applying to stay in France will give up and leave France.  That could be a rumor, but it seems about right to me!

So when I found out I was moving, I thought...I should just go down to Marseille and apply to renew my visa down there!  Then I can move some of my stuff AND avoid the most unpleasant place in all of France.  That's what I did back in November.  I went and got in line at 8:15am (so much better than 4am), and was out the door within an hour!  They gave me a sheet of paper listing what I needed to renew my visa and change my address, and a special envelope to put it all in.  Then, all I had to do was mail it back in.

WHAT?  Mail it back in?  I don't have to get an appointment to come turn it in?  I don't need to come back in to pick up my temporary card?  Nope...the nice little Marseille prefecture will mail me my temporary card with a date on it letting me know when my permanent card will be ready.  Wowzah.  That's way too easy.

So this week, when all my necessary paperwork had arrived in France that I needed, I put the application into the special envelope and mailed it off.  I was a little nervous that I didn't have all the necessary paperwork...but I'd doublechecked it a million times and the Chef had checked it too.  

That night, I was dead asleep in my bed when my eyes shot open.  Wide awake open.  While I had included all the necessary paperwork in the special envelope...I'd forgotten to include the duplicate copies.  They were still sitting on the desk in the office.  Stink.

I got up in the morning and made another copy of everything and went back over to the prefecture.  While in line, I noticed a sign that said that a valid passport must be shown at the beginning of the conversation with the person in the window.  I began digging for my passport and couldn't find it.  I ended up taking everything out of my purse and realized that I didn't have my passport.  WHERE IS MY BRAIN THESE DAYS!!!???  I prayed and asked God to give me double mercy, favor and grace at the window as (a) I didn't have my passport and (b) I had to explain that I'd messed up my renewal paperwork.

Before I go into how the conversation with the man behind the window went, let me say something about my French.  I speak manageable French.  That means that I can communicate pretty much whatever I need to communicate.  It might be filled with lots of the word for "thingamabob," and incorrect grammar, and it is certainly slighted with an American accent, but I can say what I need to say.  However, whenever I am in a conversation that is not a normal conversation for me, I tend to speak slowly.  Very punctuated, meaning that I say every single syllable and with no contractions or blending of words or anything like that.  I just haven't reached the point yet where I can speak quickly.  That means that whoever is listening to me has to be patient to let me get my sentence out.  So imagine the following conversation, where I am speaking slowly, the man behind the window is speaking rapidly (and with a Marseille accent, which is to this Parisian-trained ear what a Boston accent is to this Alabama ear), and behind a window with no microphone or sound hole in the glass for me to hear/speak through.  The Frenchman's words are in italics.

"Hello, how can I help you today?"

"Hello.  Yesterday I mailed in my application-"

"Do you have your passport?"

"Well, no, but I have my visa card.  Yesterday I mailed in my--"

"Are you applying for the first time or to renew?"

"To renew.  I actually already mailed it in yesterday--"

Looking at my visa card, "This is for a different region in France.  So you need to change your address?"

"Well, yes.  I need to renew and change my address.  Yesterday I mailed in my--"

"What do you need from me?"

A little exasperated that he won't let me finish a sentence, I start again, "Well, yesterday I mailed in my application--"

"You already mailed it in?"

"Yes, but I forgot--"

"You mailed in your application in the special envelope?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you, what?"

"You don't understand what I'm saying, okay."

"No, I understand you.  I just can't hear you."

"You mailed in your application in the special envelope?"

"Yes.  I mailed it in yesterday--"

"Then what do you want me to do for you?"

I looked at him for a moment and took a deep breath, and I think he realized...I'd been trying to tell him if he would have just let me finish my sentence.

"I realized I forgot to put my duplicate copy in the envelope.  I've brought two more copies with me today."

"All you forgot was your duplicate copy?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's easy.  I'll go ahead and start an application folder for you now, and when your original copy arrives in the mail, I'll include it with this."

"That's all I need to do?"

"Yes, have a nice day."  In other words, get out of my window.

I was in and out in 30 minutes.  No fight broke out.  No one hit on me.  No one even smelled bad.  I'll take being cut off for every sentence I say anytime over the other prefecture that always left me in tears.  Now, I guess I just wait for that temporary card...