Or: How to nearly get fired and kicked out of France
Here it is, the long overdue story of my work woes. I'll warn you in advance, it's a dark tale.
This story is actually very long and complicated, but now that it's a few months behind me, I'm tired of thinking about it and will skip some of the uglier details.
Sometime in mid February, I went to the local prefecture to renew my residence permit. Since David and I have moved, we go to a new prefecture. This one is in Versailles, situated on a cobblestone road, just a stone's throw from the palace. I had visions of Louis XIV in a plush velvet robe - not Sarkozy in a snappy Armani suit - personally kicking me out of France if I didn't get my residence card.
My former permit expired last October, but I had a small piece of paper testifying that I had applied for a new card in the fall. In fact, I hadn't applied yet, but I'd begun the process. However, I knew I was getting a new contract in January, we were going home for Christmas, we were moving - well, a lot of things happened between December and January that gave me reason to delay my application process. Finally in February I had all of my papers in place and went back to re-apply.
Well, unbeknownst to me, I only had a three month window to reapply for my residence card. The woman at the prefecture told me to go back to the US and apply for a work visa again. Ohhhh no.
The next day I told the story to my director, who immediately frog marched me to the HR manager. There was some chin rubbing, some muttering, and I was told to wait while they figured it out.
By the end of the week I had a letter in my hands stating that without a residence permit, I was no longer legally allowed to work on site. I was banished from the workplace on paid leave until a consulting company could sort out the mess and get me a new permit. Worse, the estimated time was one month. One month!
Legally I wasn't required to work during this time - I could have had a free vacation. But professionally, I knew I was toast, and I had to spend my time out of the office working as best I could from home. During a time of financial crisis, no one wants to cost their company the added expense of an immigration consultant company, not to mention full pay for not even showing up to the office.
All of this led up to the day before my birthday, and I walked out of the office on February 26 with the letter stuffed into my bag and tears in my eyes. The next day I drove to the consultant company in Paris with all of the supporting documents to help their mission.
The consultants' office was a surprisingly small, chic loft with only a few employees. I was greeted warmly at the door by a young woman who immediately saw my misery written quite plainly on my face. She guided me to a table, handed me a glass of water, and opened my file. Then she asked the question that turned everything around:
"Please tell me that I'm correct - your husband is English?"
That afternoon she had a meeting with a French immigration official. She took copies of my work contract and David's English passport. David and I left for Carnac for the weekend, and I tried my best not to think about the potential consequences of her meeting not going well.
The following Monday I was online and working by 7:30 a.m. I had a list of things to do from by boss - the kinds of things that can be done out of the office. At 9:15 I decided that the consultant girl had had enough time to get into the office and have her coffee. I dialed her number, and she gleefully reported:
"I have your temporary residence card!"
My temporary card - or recepisse - is the official paper that will hold me over until the end of May, when my permanent card is processed. The permanent card allows me to live and work in France for 10 years. If David wasn't employed I'd be entitled to five years (yeah...I don't understand it either). All this because I married a boy with British parents. All this because his parents registered his birth with the British consulate when he was an infant, and because they encouraged him to apply for his English passport before we moved to France.
And so I was able to return to work the next day. Never have I been so happy to return to the office.
Lots of hugs and kisses to Roch and Sue for this one.
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