S&M at the M.O.E.

This morning I had a triumph at the Service de main d'oeuvre etrangere (They call it M.O.E.: that is, the foreign manpower office), where I've been hanging out every Wednesday morning as if the place were a bloody S&M club, waiting for the leather-clad MC to slap me around a bit to punish me for being a very, very bad American girl and leaving my country behind to come live in the land of escargot and inefficiency.

My usual torturer, a middle-aged gent with a fucked-up eyelid was not there this morning; his place was filled by a strapping man with silver hair and a triangle of dark facial hair on his chin.

At last, someone new to deal with, I thought hopefully.

I waited my turn in line with twenty other foreign drones-- the waiting room looked like a stoned-out and depressed version of the "It's a Small World" ride at Disneyland-- and listened to the man berate one after another of my peers for neglecting one document, having come to the wrong office, or possessing lazy speech habits ("Ce n'est pas 'ouais,' Madame, mais 'oui'! Parlez français s'il vous plait!").  He sent them all in different directions, to different offices than his; one unlucky bloke was told: "Vous devez allez au Cité Universitaire, Monsieur." The lad in question looked at him with disbelief; we were at Jaures, in the very north of Paris, and Cité U is in the very very south. He might as well have been told to go to Nice.

And then a miracle happened.  A tallish woman with frizzy brown hair presented the MC with a bag of croissants. He hooted with disbelief and flourished them before us all. Bitch, we all thought to ourselves. Now we have to fucking bribe these functionaries to process our requests ? it’s not enough that it’s his job to do so, we have to sweeten the deal with pastries ? what are we in, the fucking communist bloc ? I fumed to myself on the inside, smiling my best and most charming smile on the outside.

But miraculously, after the bribe, he began to do his job! One by one, the people in front of me presented themselves and their dossiers; one by one he stamped them, set them aside, and distributed receipts. When my turn came, he busted out in flawless American-accented English, joking with me about New York. I was flabbergasted, and got out of there with a very meek and Dickensian "Thank you, sir."

Julibation! Finally, someone would process my request to work and be paid, after almost a month of this nonsense.

Then I got home and found the heat was broken.  Since yesterday afternoon there has been no hot water or heat. I was hoping it would go back on all by itself, but sadly, I am delusional. It's freezing in my apartment and I'm so dirty I can't deal. I called the rental agency: it's not their problem, apparently it says so in the lease. They give me the number of a repair company: they can't come til Wednesday. A week without heat or hot water?? Out of the question. I call another company and negotiate with them for the least inconvenient time for them to come fix it tomorrow.  It will cost us an arm and a leg; I will miss my morning of classes, but hopefully not my more important afternoon translation classes.  I want to scream. I am freezing and dirty. Thank goodness for a certain dark-eyed frenchman who has offered me the use of his shower...

so you see, really, France is a country that has its, er, ups and downs!

Comments

[schuey]

finally a perspective of what france can also be. Not only the unique american view of it. I really enjoyed that !

[Delphine]

Thank you! I laughed so much!!!!! Especially about the lazy seech habit:
("Ce n'est pas 'ouais,' Madame, mais 'oui'! Parlez français s'il vous plait!").

[La Minette Anglaise]

I just came across you're blog. Thank you so much - you made we laugh out loud!
I am so glad to know that I am not the only person who wants to tear her hair out over the unbelievable bureaucracy in this country - I swear the French have a form-filling fetish.

[Pont des arts]

arrivé ici par hasard