Oh bureaucracy, how fun you are!

I am finding that it takes quite a while to get things done in Paris. I realize that whenever you are a foreigner in new environs and you do not speak the native language with fluidity and confidence then yes, it of course takes more time than usual to get even seemingly “simple” tasks accomplished.

Fortunately for a food-obsessed being such as myself, this turn of events is not particularly debilitating where it concerns ordering a sandwich, selecting a breakfast pastry, or buying a piece of cheese. I thank the high heavens that the language of food seems to have some universal threads at its base.

However, where this frustration really hits a high note is when it comes to things like opening a bank account, setting up an internet account, or buying a portable phone.

Frankly, it is just not simple to set these basic human rights up when you are a foreigner in France. This is the case even when you are a foreigner who speaks marginally decent French, have asked around about procedures, conducted some research on your own as to how you could “expect” things to go, and have arrived at each and every appointment with a bulging folder of the listed possible “required” documentation that you might be asked to present.

For example, I was told by several seasoned frenchies that I ought to go set up a bank account ASAP upon arriving in France. Without a local bank account, the list of things that you will be unable to accomplish is alarmingly lengthy; it involves everything from being able buy a mobile phone to being able to rent an apartment to being able to drink a cappuccino (not really, but sometimes it feels as though that is the case). Also, without the French bank account, it would not be possible for me to get paid from my new job, so there was significant personal incentive from the get-go to have this thing up and running STAT.

So, on my second day in Paris, I go to the bank armed with a copy of my work contract, a copy of my lease for an apartment, my passport, my visa, and a signed and notarized letter from my bank in America. I also was prepared to part with one of my limbs, if that turned out to be a requirement.

The bank was empty in terms of clientele. As in totally, completely, empty. It was around 10:30 am on a Tuesday, so I figured things would go great guns from there. (Banks are closed on Sundays and Mondays, and only open for part of the day on Saturday. Additionally, people tend to leave for lunch for an hour or two in the middle of the day and they may or may not decide to close early or tell you that they cannot help you if it is near closing time. Like within an hour or so of closing time.) So the woman at the front desk was charming and fabulously cheery, and was very complimentary of how prepared I seemed. She then told me she could make me an appointment for Thursday.

Let me repeat that it was Tuesday, the bank was empty and she had just verified that I had all the necessary documentation with me already.

I suggested perhaps sometime that very day. Or maybe Wednesday?

She, chipper as ever, again repeated that Thursday was the day!

Come Thursday, it was an approximately 4 hour affair. We may have signed away the rights to our own minds, I am not really sure as I was able to grasp about 60% of what transpired. Afterwards we were told we needed to wait for our bank cards for 10 days, but we were given account verification.

We took our account verification to the internet place. They were delighted at our fat folder of documentation. After an hour, we were all signed up and ready—or so we thought. She said someone would call on Friday.

Us: “Oh great, so someone will call on Friday and come that day to hook up the internet.”

Her (with a look of shock): “NO, no NOOOOOOO! Someone will call on Friday to set up an appointment for sometime in the next two weeks.”

So what were we doing there, exactly, at that very moment? This is where fluency would be really handy.

And then we went through this whole procedure where I was able to pick out a new portable phone. We talked about the phone, examined the phone, and discussed the plan on the phone.

The kicker is that I was then told we could not actually have the phone until our bank cards arrived. I repeated that we had shown bank account verification, but our cards might not arrive for 10 days.

Her: “Yes! Thank you! As soon as your card arrives, come back, we will change your plan from internet to internet and phone and you can have a phone.”

Uhh, okay.

So then the letter arrives from the bank, like clockwork, on day nine: oh the joy!! A slight sinking sensation ensues when we see that the letter does not contain our actual cards. But, on a happier note, it does say: “Come pick up your bank cards, they are available this afternoon!” Great. Will do.

Back to the chipper woman at the bank: “Hi, we are here to pick up our bank cards.” And we show the letter.

Chipper woman: “You will not be able to pick them up until Wednesday. First another letter will arrive verifying your address, and you must sign it and then come back. Probably we will send that letter tomorrow and then you will receive it next Wednesday.” It was Thursday, so that meant another week.

Just to be sure, I tried to break down the details a bit: “Okay, but we received these letters saying that the cards were here and we could come pick them up this afternoon. There was no mention of the a letter to follow that we would have to sign verifying addresses.”

CW: “Yes, the cards are here! But we need the letter, so go home and wait until you receive it and then come back. Probably next Wednesday. Thank you!!”

WHAT?

So we wait until Wednesday. No letter. As if you did not guess that would be the case.

We go back to the bank on Thursday and I explain that the letter has not yet arrived, and what should we do?

CW: “No letter?” Her chipper demeanor was suddenly marred by suspicion. She seriously seemed to think I was lying.

I started to wonder if I was lying, and if I did sign some letter and had somehow forgotten. But I stood my ground: “No letter.”

CW: “Oh, okay, then it is at the post office. Thank you!! Good bye!”

Me: “Wait, I do not understand? What post office?” No one had EVER mentioned anything about a post office.

CW: “The one closest to you. Thank you!! Good bye!"

So we run around to two post offices where the people are notably irritated that we do not have the official number of this official (and possibly mythical) letter. CW did not mention that we would need to provide an official number when seeking out this letter. Finally a woman who looks like she is willing to put about as much effort into the hunt for this letter as I would put into searching the world for a talking cat, finds the letter.

Euphorically, we sign the cards attached to it, hand them to the postal worker and run out with the treasured letter.

By the way, this letter says nothing about protocol, procedure or otherwise. In sum it says nothing period. The contents are basically as follows: “Dear Customer 4,112, Thank you for your business, We are happy to have you on board and will help you in every way possible with all your banking needs. Blah, blah, blah. Love, The bank.”

We go back to Chipper Woman, who is still, persistently and undauntingly, perky.

Us: “We found the letter! We signed the cards! Can we pick up our bank cards?”

CW: “Oh, good. Now we wait until the post office sends your signature cards here and then we can give you your cards. Probably the middle of next week. Thank you!! Good bye”

What?

So we have no bank cards and no portable phone, and you try living in these modern times without having access to money or a mobile. In effect, it DOES feel like I sacrificed a limb to that incomprehensible bank. The irony, I am telling you.

Sometimes I wonder if I am being punkd.