|Voila, my little Carte de Sejour|
The good news: I came out victorious at the Prefecture: I now have my carte de sejour (visa). Hallelujah!
More good news: I was given another opportunity to ponder Ce Que Chante La Pluie D’Automne the other morning (see previous post). This time, it was before sunrise, in line with several others as we waited for the Prefecture to open its doors.
Mention “Prefecture” to any American in France (actually, any French person for that matter) and they will shake their head or roll their eyes. The Prefecture. They will then proceed with their latest episode or favorite story about this institution. It’s among the list of “things I like about France the least” for most foreigners, including me, which is a pity... the Prefecture is the face of France.
It’s a typical example of French administration. Logic is totally overlooked.
And I guess I’ve reached a new level in French proficiency... I yelled at a stranger in French. It was one of the ladies behind the glass in Accueil 3; she wouldn’t listen to my question. She was continuing on with her raised eyebrows and puckered lips as she was going through her normal spiel about how it wouldn’t be possible to process my papers, and I exploded. I felt better afterward, but I lost my privilege to receive a number, wait in line more, and see someone who actually processes the visas.
So I was back the next morning, which was drier and less unpleasant. And the most important thing: I’m now legit in France and can work like the rest of them. Work where? Not sure yet.