This post is rather epic. I will start by saying that French bureaucracy is at least as bad as the stereotypes! There are so many small episodes it's kind of hard to pick good examples, but I think I will recount for you the tale of renewing my residence permit. It covers a lot of bases!
We'll go ahead and start when I already have the thing that let me legally reside in France last semester. I'm calling it a thing because there is not agreement on what it is. It was presented to me as a residence permit, but when I went to renew it, I was told that I was actually making my first application for a residence permit since my old thing was a vignette, which google translate helpfully tells me means either "vignette" (whoa there google, don't hurt yourself), "thumbnail" (um, no), or "sticker." Not the normal word for sticker, but it is actually a sticker in my passport, so ok. I didn't have a residence permit, I had a sticker. Oooh, stickers... it even has a shiny part.
SO. When given our stickers, we were told to apply for renewal at least two months before the sticker expired. When it came time to renew, we searched for lists of required documents for the renewal application online (we of course hadn't been given any such information), and find two very different lists both "for renewal of student residence permits." Hrm. Well anyway. I got back to France a few days before the two months and set about collecting the required documents on both lists. I did, however, get back to France in August. This was not smart. France absolutely shuts down in August. Like, most stores and restaurants close for the month type of shuts down. This of course meant the university was rather unresponsive to my requests for documents. Long story short, I eventually got a completed application together. Or so I thought.
When I went to my appointment to deposit my application, they asked for documents on both of the lists, but they also wanted stamps. And self-addressed stamped envelopes. And a medical certificate. The post office near the prefecture (house o' government) helped with the stamps, but the medical certificate was at home. I had forgotten about it (I got it when I got the sticker), but even if I hadn't forgotten it, I would have assumed that since it did not appear on either of my two lists I probably did not need it... assuming is a very bad idea in this game. Anyway, not a big deal, the international student office opened in a few days and I could drop off the last few things to complete the application. WHOA. That was relieving.
Until it got to a week before my sticker expired and I hadn't heard anything, despite being assured that "two months is plenty of time and why [was I] renewing so early anyway?" (Perhaps because I was told to. Just maybe.) I was no longer relieved. I headed go the international student office to see what was up with another girl who applied the same day and whose sticker expired when mine did. We sat, we waited, they called the prefecture, we waited for the prefecture to call back, you get it. Time rolled on. Finally they got back to us. Turns out my application was fine, all processed and approved, they were just waiting for something to be sent
from the main office in Paris. Which should take 3 weeks to a month to arrive. I said "Ok, but my sticker expires next week, what
should I do?" The answer? "Don't leave France I guess." Um, really? Now, when we first went to the prefecture, one friend had gotten a
receipt proving that she had applied for the visa, but they only gave her one,
and it was because she had less than two months until her sticker
expired. But because my application was processed and approved, I could not get the receipt, which leaves me with no proof of my legal presence in the country while I hope nothing goes wrong or I don't need to go anywhere for a month. Awesome. For my friend, who did the application at the same time, the whole process was several weeks behind, so while she won't get the residence permit for a while, she could at least get the receipt saying she had applied for the renewal.
Nearly three weeks to the day after my sticker expires, I get a self-addressed stamped card inside a self-addressed stamped envelope from the prefecture. (Glad those stamps were put to good use.) My residence permit is ready! All I have to do is bring my passport, sticker, and "30 euros-timbre OMI" and "19 euros- timbre fiscal" to the prefecture any afternoon between 1:15 and 3pm (timbre=stamp). Another friend gets her notice the same day, so the next day, off we go! We get to the prefecture at about 1:35. And take our numbers. They are 130 and 131. And yes, they started at one. The ticket helpfully tells us that there are 116 people in front of us when we pulled the tickets. They are on number 15... We figure we have a while, so we head off for a while, but are back before 3pm. They are on number 60. Joy. We weren't sure if they would stop calling numbers at 3pm, but happily they did not. They kept going (very unexpected pleasant surprise).
Finally, at 4:45 they call my number. I practically skip to the window I'm so happy to be done, and I slide my ticket, passport, and card through the window. I pull 49 euros out of wallet and immediately get "oh no no! That will not do! You must buy the stamps before you get here!" Um, WHAT? "We do not sell those here now! You can either get them here, in the morning, or you can buy them from a tabac." A tabac is basically a street convenience store--it sells tobacco, magazines, newspapers, lottery tickets, candy and the like. I thought I had misheard, so I asked to be sure--"A tabac?" "Yes, any tabac sells these stamps. Go buy the stamps and come back tomorrow! Have a nice afternoon." ARG! Nowhere was it written, and never was it mentioned, that you can't buy the stamps when you pick up the residence permit! How am I supposed to guess that I can either buy the stamps in the morning at the place where I can only pick up my visa in the afternoon or that I can go grab a newspaper, a candybar, and 50 euros in official government documents in the same transaction just around the corner?? What utter ridiculousness. So friend and I head to the nearest tabac. Sure enough, the guy ahead of us wants cigarettes and a paper. The guy behind us wants a lottery ticket. And we drop 49 euros each on what are, actually, stamps. Really expensive ones.
We both spend the next period of time in some foggy area between laughing at the idiocy and admitting we're not surprised that something stupid like that happened, and being so very angry. There is, of course, nothing to be done but to go back the next day.
Which we do. We're good little girls and get there just before 1:15. And we walk into a disaster zone. There is an enormous herd of people gathered around the machine that gives the numbers. Le sigh. When the machine finally starts working at 1:40 (wtf: even the machines are late/don't want to work) the inevitable mass crush breaks out and lasts until a security guard comes over and starts issuing the tickets himself. What a mess. So on day two we're 60 and 61. Better! It only takes until 3pm to be called, but the time passed slowly due to the dueling screaming infants and the dreading that we were about to be told we'd done something else wrong and would have the pleasure of coming back tomorrow. Again. But they finally called my friend's number! She went up to the window, and the person at the other window finished, so I thought I was up--and then they skipped my number. WHAT? The machines can't count? I feel reasonably confident that it's automated, so for example when 60 has been called it's pretty likely that 61 will be next, right? The lady at one window doesn't yell at the other to ask which number she is serving and inputs the next number in the big screen telling me which window to go to, right? It's automatic? Ok, thought so. Then further evidence of French machinery being very French. So when my friend is done, I run up to the window, even though they called another number (after mine). The lady tried to tell me she hadn't called my number and I was about to... um, probably get myself kicked out of the prefecture/country/... but she she either recognized the look in my eyes or decided that 61 did probably come before 63 and she could go ahead and take care of me, even though the machine told her not to. She stuck the stamps all over each other on some piece of paper and handed me my residence permit. With my first name spelled wrong in two ways. Apparently if your name exists in French but is not spelled the French way, they save you from your parents and their barbaric language and Frenchify it for you. Le sigh. CLOSE ENOUGH! So I am no longer illegally in France. And I don't have to worry about not being able to get back in after I go to Monaco for my birthday!
Excuse another epic post. There were a lot of parts to this saga! I've left a lot out, but I think I captured the general frustration. Or maybe I don't want to revisit the any more details :) But there is, for your pleasure, a taste of French bureaucracy. I hope for your sake that's the strongest taste you ever get!
