One of the most 'frightening' aspects of moving to a foreign country is having to deal with a strange bureaucracy in a strange tongue. The lack of a technical vocabulary and having to deal with mundane matters, which you would normally take for granted, can be very frustrating and nerve wracking. Dealing also with a populace, not best known for customer service and who refuse to slow down and talk to you in words of few syllables when they realise that you are a foreigner, is disconcerting to say the least. Well, today I had my revenge. I received a letter the other day telling me to send in my English driving licence (see 'Ouch That Hurt 26th Feb). At this the alarm bells started to ring because I'd heard stories of them losing licences and there was no way that I would easily let it out of my sight. I certainly wasn't going to send it into that 'black hole', known as the French administration system.
So there I was sitting, for an hour, in the Prefecture in Nimes, waiting my turn. The hour had given me plenty of time to practice the French phrases that I would need to argue with the woman behind the glass screen. I say argue because I had to have either my English licence or the French one because I will drive to Spain on Thursday and I wasn't going to leave home without one (as they say). When you arrive you take a ticket and wait your turn. My number was PO 84 and the display counter showed that they were serving customer PO 55. Great, there are only 30 people in front of me. Actually I didn't think 'great' I thought 'bollocks', but my previous visit had taught me something. What happens is that people take their ticket, go round the corner and see the display counter, swear, and then leave. This has the dubious benefit of the disappointment at thinking that there are lots of people in front of you when actually there are probably only half the number.
My turn arrived. I strode briskly to the glass screen (these people obviously get attacked a lot) with a big smile on my face (got to disarm the bastards somehow) and explained myself. I could see from the blank expression on her (pictured above) face that she had switched off' so I redoubled my efforts. Not saying a word she left the counter, rifled through a pile of papers and came back with my shiny new French licence. Without a smile or eye contact she told me that I was speaking so fast that she couldn't understand a word I was saying. BINGO, I had got what I wanted, a shiny new licence, and struck a blow, albeit a small one, for all us 'put upon foreigners'.
So there I was sitting, for an hour, in the Prefecture in Nimes, waiting my turn. The hour had given me plenty of time to practice the French phrases that I would need to argue with the woman behind the glass screen. I say argue because I had to have either my English licence or the French one because I will drive to Spain on Thursday and I wasn't going to leave home without one (as they say). When you arrive you take a ticket and wait your turn. My number was PO 84 and the display counter showed that they were serving customer PO 55. Great, there are only 30 people in front of me. Actually I didn't think 'great' I thought 'bollocks', but my previous visit had taught me something. What happens is that people take their ticket, go round the corner and see the display counter, swear, and then leave. This has the dubious benefit of the disappointment at thinking that there are lots of people in front of you when actually there are probably only half the number.
My turn arrived. I strode briskly to the glass screen (these people obviously get attacked a lot) with a big smile on my face (got to disarm the bastards somehow) and explained myself. I could see from the blank expression on her (pictured above) face that she had switched off' so I redoubled my efforts. Not saying a word she left the counter, rifled through a pile of papers and came back with my shiny new French licence. Without a smile or eye contact she told me that I was speaking so fast that she couldn't understand a word I was saying. BINGO, I had got what I wanted, a shiny new licence, and struck a blow, albeit a small one, for all us 'put upon foreigners'.
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