I'm Legal!

I suppose it's only karmic that those who face obstacle after obstacle with French administration should have their own turn of good luck. Today was my day.

I received news on Monday that my 10 year residence permit - carte de sejour - was ready for me to pick up. I was pleasantly surprised; my temporary permit expires this Friday and I was anticipating a few uncomfortable weeks of illegality before my permanent card was ready.

The consulting company recommended that I go to the prefecture between 2 and 4 p.m. to avoid the lines, so I took off from the office after lunch today. I brought my charged ipod and an apple and braced myself for an afternoon waiting in line with hundreds of other immigrants. But this time I didn't mind the wait - I was getting my 10 year carte!

I arrived in Nanterre and found a parking spot easily - another unexpected surprise. I breezed through security, and when my bangle bracelets set off the metal detector the guard waved me past. I guess a cursory glance at my summer office outfit would tell anyone that I wasn't carrying a set of car keys on my body, let alone a weapon.

Once inside the prefecture, I made a beeline for the information desk. I needed to buy something called an OMI stamp in order to obtain my card. This is typical France - for example, when you get a parking ticket, you can't just write a check and pop it in the mail. You have to buy a special 35 euro (or whatever the price for your offense) stamp, stick it on your ticket, and mail that. Stamps can be bought "from any tabac", the French will tell you, but good luck finding a tabac who has them in stock in the quantity you are looking for. The hassle alone is enough to make anyone follow the parking laws.

Anyway, the information desk directed me to a treasury department upstairs for my stamp. As I walked up the stairs I imagined myself standing in first one long line for the stamp, then a second for the card. Oh well, still getting my 10 year permit, still in a good mood.

I found the treasury department nearly empty. I followed the signs for the OMI stamps and found a bored young man reading a newspaper. After a brief exchange he took my 70 euros and handed me two small stamps, not unlike postage stamps.

"That's all?" I asked.

"Yes, that's all" he answered, turning a page in his newspaper.

Cool, that was easy. Now all I have to do is wait for my card. I walked back downstairs and looked for the mass of hot, irritated immigrants jostling for position in line, but there was no one. The usual waiting area had been replaced with a hallway leading to the driving permit department. Don't want to go down that road again, thanks.

I returned to the information desk and politely asked where I needed to go to get my residence permit. She directed me upstairs again.

"Oh, everything has moved!" I remarked.

"Yes, we are working on the building to improve the department for foreigners" she answered.

Well how about that. They actually acknowledge that thier department for foreigners was lousy.

So I trotted back upstairs and followed my directions. Top of the stairs, take a left and...? I looked left and right and saw no sign for the department for foreigners. What I did see was two bored girls in glass cubicles in the middle of an empty hallway. I decided to ask them where I should go.

As I approached, I spotted a set of familiar-looking cabinets behind the girls. The drawers were labelled with different regions of the department. My jaw dropped.

"I believe...." I began stupidly, "...that you might have my carte de sejour."

"Well I might" the bored girl replied. "Do you have your old one?"

I produced my passport, temporary permit, expired card, and stamps. She wheeled back to the drawers and pulled my new card out of a file folder. As she processed the release papers for my precious card, I stared at it, reeling from the shock.

"Where is everyone?" I asked. "I don't believe this!"

"Eh." she answered. "This time of day is pretty slow. But this is fairly exceptional."

From my experience, this was beyond exceptional; this was nothing short of a miracle. I had to be dreaming. And then it got better.

"According to my screen, you have nothing to pay." she reported as she slid my card under the glass.

This was more than a dream. Someone must have slipped drugs into my drink at lunch.

"Really! Well what am I supposed to do with these stamps?"

"I don't know. Try the treasury department."

I scooped up my card, bid my thank you and bonne journée, and walked back to the treasury guy. Unfortunately, my wild luck ended there, because even though we'd made an exchange just 10 minutes before, he wouldn't return my 70 euros in cash. He printed out the address of an office to contact for my reimbursement, as well as a list of things to mail. Ah..there's the ol' French administration I know so well.

No matter, I finally have my carte de sejour and don't have to worry about getting kicked out of the country any time soon. On my last visit to the Nanterre prefecture, my administration karma has finally been cashed in.