Staying positive whilst waist-deep in bullshit.

10 10 2011


When I’m not utterly in love with Paris, I’m at fisticuffs with France in general. It is famous for its useless state employees, who cannot be fired, and it is these guys who wage war on the innocent little strangers who try to add their talent to the pool. I’m talking about me against the social security system. As far as health care goes, France has one of the best systems in the world. This could be why they guard it with 45 flaming hoops and a pit of crocodiles, or so it would seem, from my failure after 2 attempts. The reason I am writing is to avoid blasting someone over the phone like they do on cartoons.

I stood in the Porte D’Orléans office for 45 minutes to speak to a lady who had a very obvious understanding of how incredibly frustrating the whole process is. Blasé is a word I would use. She was pleased to let me know that the person on the phone had malinformed me of the documents necessary and found it slightly hilarious, probably because she had a shiny green card in her portefeuille. It reminded me of how I didn’t have to worry about things like this in Australia, and how delightfully calm I would feel should I be there rather than this shitty office. The only thing I could do was laugh at the whole situation, mentally noting that this mission will need to rest for at least 7 business days until I will have the courage and enough positivity to battle again.


Another bad idea was trying to work out how to transfer my driving license to be able to drive in France, starting with a policeman’s response similar to if I had a set of balls growing on my forehead, and ending with a merry-go-round of phone numbers with no actual phone operator. They were just kidding! There’s no information here! You have to go online to this website, where the links will be dead, your query will not be supported or go in person to this street, in the 18th arondissement, by METRO CLIGNANCOURT. No Thanks.


So I did what any normal girl would do in a case like this – shop. This time it was a bit of Indian grocery shopping, through the scary 10th arondissement – ‘no sir, my name is not, in fact, ‘Miss Miss’ and my nails are fine for the moment, and thankyou for offering, but hair extensions suit better the ladies in the side street’- then along to Rue de Rivoli’s fancy end to Galignani to buy a book about French history (subconscious sucker for punishment) and homeward bound, for a cup of Yogi tea (with cute messages on the paper tabs – they must have known of my average day) and some big band jazz. Happy at last.

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One response

10 10 2011
Butch

Oh Kate !! Go gettem Tiger and thanks for the post!!

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