i knew i couldn't be that stupid!!

I am SO relieved.

This morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 7:45am to go to the Prefecture and finally face up to the fact that I lost my temporary Titre de Séjour. And to try to reschedule the required medical exam, the date for which falls exactly on the day of my Art History exam. Stroke of luck that they let me back into the country after coming back from Spain, I thought to myself. Can't leave it up to chance anymore. (Truth is, no one would probably ever notice, seeing as border patrol doesn't really happen in Europe anymore. Something about the European Union...?)

Anyhow, I was given a ticket and waited in one of those bland civil service offices with a bunch of hyper-organized Asian kids. I non-enthusiastically flipped through my Art History review cards while waiting for my number to be called. About 20 minutes later, I approached Guichet H, pretty much your standard post manned by a fonctionnaire with short blond hair and glasses. She seemed like a suburban mom, aka she seemed like she would be friendly. Not so, my friend, not so.

Looking down her pinched nose at me, she got defensive, saying it wasn't her office that dealt with the medical visits. She pointed to the telephone number indicated on the letter, and after telling her I had already tried calling them several times before Christmas, she said I should go to their office. She got frustrated when I asked her where it might be located, saying "You have the address right here (dummy!)"

Taking a deep breath (and on the verge of tears), I told her what I really had come all that way to say. "Is the récipisée that document with my photo stamped on it that you get in the mail?"

"Yes."

"Well...I don't have it."

"You must have received it."

"The thing is...I lost it."

She looked at me in angry disbelief. "Well, you really should get yourself together."

Yup. That was it. No indication of what I should do to fix the situation. And, as tears welled in my eyes, I think it was clear enough that I was torn up about losing the bootleg copy of my temporary residence card. I was teetering between bawling in sorrow/pleading for her forgiveness and being supremely pissed off. There was no excuse for her to talk to me in that way or that tone. Isn't that what she is there for, to help me get my carte de séjour?

Still in a bit of shock, I asked her what I should do. Throwing her hands up in the air, she said in exasperation, "You'll have to go to the commissariat and report the loss of the document to them. Then you have to come back here with a photo so we can get you a new one. And you have to go to the doctor's office to reschedule your appointment. And you have to go today. You should hurry up and fix this."

Great. I stood up and left, in disbelief that anyone could be that mean. I needed to calm down, so I went to the Centre Commerciale and had a hot chocolate and a croissant, while trying to trap a WiFi signal long enough to figure out what the heck a commissariat was. Good news: the office was close to where I live. Bad news: turns out she wanted me to go to the police.

Whether this was all just some cruel joke because she wanted me locked up for stupidity was yet to be seen. I decided to head to the doctor's office first to see what I could do about my medical visit. Possibly the most non-descript building on the most non-descript street in the city, I was greeted by a "Bonjour" right as I walked through the automatic doors. A youngish Arabic woman sat at the acceuil, and asked me if I was there for my medical visit. I explained my problem, and she responded, "The problem is, the office is closed this week, and they wont be able to reschedule you until next week. What I recommend that you do is write a letter and send it by mail with some dates that would be better for you. Then they'll respond to you my mail as well." She smiled. "But I wouldn't worry about it. I think they give you 3 chances to come for the visit, so you should be fine."

She was so nice that I didn't want to bog her down with my stupidity. "A small problem," I said. "The visit is scheduled for this Thursday." I braced myself for the onslaught.

"No problem," she said. "Just send us the letter, and everything will work out."

So it's not that all French civil servants are supreme bitches. It's just that one. So watch out for her.

I decided to make one last sweep of my room to look for the récipissée. It would postpone my visit to the police station, which I was not enthusiastic about. And it would give me a chance to complain to my advisor back at home via email. I carefully went through each of the drawer of my desk. Reaching the final one, which I had looked through at least 15 times, I took out each individual receipt I have kept over the last 4 months and unfolded it. I came across the paper I took to be the code for my bank account -- but lo and behold, it was my récipissé!!

Needless to say, I danced around my room for a few minutes and then did this:
WAHOO!

I couldn't be happier.