Welcome to France

August 7, 2006 - Monday 21:46

Welcome to France

I had been thinking about this moment in the past 4 months: standing behind the queue that is 2 miles long and the smell of sweat and the scream of children fill the room. And yes, the real scene was worse than I had expected, but the rest fit right in with my imagination.

I woke up at 7:30am, took a shower, had my espresso and headed out for the Préfecture, where the person works behind the glass would determine my fate of my staying in Europe. The Administration Center wasn't even in Nice, it is in the suburb, a few kilometers from the airport. On the 45 minutes' ride bus, I kept checking the necessary documents in my mind: birth certificate, acceptance letter from my new school, the grades of the last year, the exams I took last year, official form of the change of the address... and a fake bitter smile. The paper weights about 3 pounds. I got off at the last stop, although it wasn't too many people on the bus but the amount of people were in the room was really considerable. So, I made some photo copies, took my ID photo in the booth, and stood in line.

"Excuse me, do you have a ticket already?"

"No, we are standing in line to get a ticket."

"Oh..." Advice: wear comfortable shoes, eat your breakfast, hold your pee, keep your smile, and bring hear muffs. Some children played toys cars in the hall and chased them under the chair; elderly sat down and had their family stood in line. We saw people kept joining in this never ending line but no one got out of the exit; the expressions of others' faces were only three: happy, sad, or angry.

I got in line around 9:00 and I got to talk to the woman on the counter at 11:30. Yes, please wear comfortable shoes.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am trying to renew my residence's card."

"What are you doing at Nice?"

"Study."

"Study what?"

"French language."

"What did you last year?"

"I worked at a.."

"You were at school right?"

"Yes. I was studying French."

"So what are you doing here?"

"To study French."

"AGAIN?"

I started to feel a little not at ease.

"Fine, you can try, take this number and wait."

"Thank you."

My eyes were fixed on the panel where they showed the call numbers, like some of them, we are lucky to make it to this point. The préfecture only opens from 9:00 to 12:30, so basically, you have be here very very realy in order to talk to someone. Because of Rolling Stone is coming tomorrow, so they are closed at noon! Jeez, it is a police station for heaven sake, not a music revue. Anyway, I should probably camp out in front of the holy building tomorrow. (yes, need to return tomorrow again.)

After another 30 minutes, 552, my number showed up on the screen. I rushed to window 6. The woman behind the glass was really nice though, but it is not easy to talk through those tiny holes, feels like in prison. The window 8 is right next to me, it is specially for Work permits. When I was turning in all my documents, a drama broke out:

A guy in his 30's yelling at the prefect, no you don't do that. "How would you expect me to work while you gave me a paper that prohibit me to work?"

"I am not giving you a work permit unless you have a contract!"

"How am I suppose to have a contract when I have no right to work?"

"I am not giving you a work permit without contract."

"But I can't have a contract unless they see that I have the right to work."

"Not my problem."

The 30 years old guy put the kid on the floor and stood up, yelled:" Tell me what to do! Just tell me! I can't get a contract because you wouldn't give me a paper to work. They would if I had the paper!"

"Fuck this shit!" Can you believe this came out of a prefect consul?

"Fuck this too!" Everyone started to staring at them.

"I am calling the security."

I don't remember what he replied, but as the security guys showed up, he and his family left the building.

Shit, I need to talk this person tomorrow morning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And no, I don't have a contract, because the pizza place asked me to get a permit before they would give me a job.

I was doing fine, she gave me 3 months' of extension in the form of a receipt, but I'd better not leave the country.

"When do I know my card is ready please?"

"Well, you can pop in and check,"

Pop in? To stand in line and miss the whole morning's class to "pop in"?

Nevertheless, I am legal here until Nov. 6, 2006.