Nothing gets your day started like a healthy dose of French bureaucracy.
Today was the day that I got to go and do my medical (probably the third one that I've have for various non-medical reasons since we arrived. You'd think there'd be some centralized system to tell everyone that I've been vaccinated, have good teeth and can see). My appointment was scheduled for 9:30 am. When I showed up fifteen minutes early, there were probably about 75 people also waiting for medical exams.
Chairs were a hot commodity in that waiting room.
I waited in the first room for fifteen minutes before being herded into the next level of waiting. Where I waited for another thirty minutes.
Once things got started, I realized what the hold up was. The doctors (about four of them) were more interested in talking to each other than actually seeing people. The first screening was in a room with other people, and I literally stood in the middle of the room for five minutes twiddling my thumbs while the woman dealing with me had a loud conversation across the room with another doctor. Things ran a bit more smoothly after that, I got a chest x-ray, then a quick chat with a real doctor (who suggested homeopathy and qui gonn for my blood pressure, which was a lovely 170/110 this morning. I was certainly not relaxed).
When I finally got the letter saying I was ok, they inform me that I need to go and buy 220 euros worth of 'stamps' before I can get my card. They had a sent me a letter telling me this, but because they refuse to use my new last name, it got sent back to them. So, off I went on the next stage of this scavenger hunt. The stamps had to be purchased at a tabac across the street (seriously, I thought they were joking). Then I had to wait in another line to actually pick up the card. When I got the card, I asked the woman why they keep using my maiden name.
"Its according to your passport" she told me rudely.
Which I would hope it would be, but my maiden name isn't mentioned anywhere in my passport. Which I told them. She proceeds to flip through my file, and points out snarkely (is that a word?) "see, here you wrote your nom de jeune fille."
"Well, of course I did. It says to write your nom de jeune fille. " I replied.
At this point she got all huffy, and asked why I was so mad about it, which I wasn't. I was more curious as to why I would have a visa in a name that isn't on my passport. When she was tired of talking to me, she said "c'est termine. Bonne journee," and moved onto the next person.
So. I can work. I'm 220 euros poorer. And I have been reminded yet again about how poorly organized, unhelpful and downright unfriendly people here can be.
I do get to keep the chest x-ray though. Pretty cool, isn't it?
On a more positive note, today is Steve's 29th birthday. We're making Italian pizza (well, the boys are).
And here are some pictures of the boys in the new socks that they bought yesterday. Guess they didn't realize they would all be knee socks.
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