It`s a fact. Ninety percent of the world`s black clothing dye is used in Nice. The other ten percent is used by a group of Goth kids living in a suburb of Sacremento. It`s a fact. If you doubt it just take a walk on the Promenade and I challenge you to prove me wrong.

Here`s another fact. The more French you learn; the more you realize how crappy your level of French is. Since coming back I`ve been using my free time to try and improve my French by watching TV, reading the paper and participating in the France Bretagne language conversation group.

I`ve been told I must join the France Etas-Unis language group even though I like the Brits a bit better. If there was a France-Canada one I`d like that the most. Regardless, speaking with local French folks in a real live setting is great for improving your French. Although I think I inadvertently insulted the French people at my table when they asked my opinion of Ikea.  I think Ikea makes great stuff provided you don`t use it for any functional purpose or in real life situations.

I`ve also heard the AVF is a great source for French integration. I just clicked on their website for Nice and it really does look like they have a lot of stuff.  I`d really love to join one of those French cycling clubs I see on the weekends but I`m such a slow cyclist it wouldn`t be fun for anybody.

Third Time Is A Charm

Finally had my French Bureaucracy moment that everybody had been warning me about.  I returned with my fiance to the Prefecture with the extra documents we were told to acquire at the time and date that the first fonctionnaire had given us.

The second time we saw a different fonctionnaire and once she saw my American passport seemed resigned to the fact that she would do nothing for me. She took everything in hand and disappeared into a back room. I wonder what happens in that back room? I think they spin a wheel to decide what they`re going to do with their cases with choices on the wheel that include:

• Tell them they need another form that doesn`t exist 
• Pass them off to the new guy since he doesn`t hate everybody yet 
• Go on an unannounced smoke break
• Stall until lunch and then tell them they`ll have to come back tomorrow

This second fonctionnaire would only talk to my fiance and never even looked at me.  I was informed that I needed to register with the Chambre des Metiers and that I needed some other forms that I already had brought with me and were in her hand. The fonctionnaire and my fiance started into a debate that was quickly escalating into one of those situations that could qualify us for a fine. When the fontionnaire concluded with a phrase along the lines of, "If we let in every American they can just do whatever they please." I realized that I`d get nowhere with her and that I was definitely not going to compliment her on her blouse and her blouse was honestly quite nice.

Come Back When You`re Visa`s Expired 

She gave us a date to return to the Prefecture that was a few weeks after my Schengen visa was due to expire. When we pointed this out to her she merely shrugged her shoulders.

My fiance was so angry I thought she was going to punch me in the throat just to expunge some of that anger. All my stress related ailments started to flare up. Some of the choicest ones include eczema and a burning sensation in my gut.

Despite having an American passport I`m still a Canadian. I know this because I believed everything the fonctionnaire told me, waited patiently in line and believed that there was no other course of action other than the one that the last fonctionnaire had given me. There are rules that people in government positions give us and we have to obey them without question.

"Screw that." I was told by my fiance. "We`ll just keep going back to the Prefecture until we get somebody that wants to do their job." Apparently French bureaucracy is like the weather. If you don`t like the results just wait a day and hopefully you`ll get what you want. 

The Sweet Sound of a Printer Spooling off a Carte de Sejour

We went back a few days later and one of the highlights of that trip was watching the Black Haired Lady call the police on an irate fella who didn`t like the answers he was getting from her with regards to his papers.

Instead of lining up with everybody at 7AM we showed up at 9AM and were able to get a number. It was a four hour wait but somehow the time seemed to fly by. Time flies for me when I`m drunk, having fun or anxious. Being drunk and anxious made the time run by even quicker. (Since my fiance`s Mom reads this I have to admit that I wasn`t drunk. If my own Mother read this she would not be shocked that I would be drunk and anxious this early in the AM. As a youngster, she would send me off to school after a few shots of vodka if I was particularly wound up about a spelling test.)

At the screening desk we were greeted by the first fonctionnaire we originally dealt with. He recognized us and after seeing that we had all the documents he had originally asked for could not understand why we`d been sent away.

When our number was called we were lucky enough to get the fonctionnaire behind window number one. I wanted her because she seemed to be the one all the other fonctionnaires went to when they were stymied. Plus she cracked a smile every now and then.

After a few minutes she said everything was in order. Typed some stuff into a computer and slid my temporary Carte de Sejour under the plexiglass window straight into my sweaty little immigrant hands. On the drive back home I felt my jaw unclenching.

So now I just wait for a sweet job to fall into my lap and count those Euros. 

Why are you laughing?