So, You Want a Carte de Séjour?

What were you doing on the morning of Christmas Eve? We had a thrilling experience. Something that really sets you in the mood for Christmas. That’s what you get when you apply for a “carte de séjour,” the French administrative document that allows foreigners to work in France. As you may know, dealing with administration in this country is like standing on the edge of a volcano: the odds are that nothing is going to happen, but you have to be on the lookout because, once in a while, things get moving. And, that’s precisely what happened. As we naively thought that the Office des Migrations Internationales was sleeping, it erupted brutally one day in December. My wife, Beth, was required to go for a medical exam right away, just to make sure that she was not one of these bacteria dressed up as a cute blue-eyed American. Fair enough. So off we go. That’s ok; it’s not like we had any last minute gifts to buy or cooking on the agenda anyway. The chest x-ray does not take long. No. The problem was ahead of us with the doctor’s exam. As we were climbing the steps that lead to the office of the general practitioner certified by the Office des Migrations Internationales, we gaze at the building. It was amazing. Not often does one see a building that looks like a rotten cracker. Well, you know, we are in an old city and . . . . BZZZZZZ . . . . Push the door of the doctor’s office. “Bonjour,” we naively say. The medical secretary who welcomes us is really cheerful. No, just kidding. She hands Beth a plastic coffee cup. Hey, how nice? A complimentary cup of coffee from the French government? We immediately recant all the negative comments that flowed from our mouths on the drive to the medical exam. But, not for long. It turns out that the medical secretary gave us the plastic coffee cup for a reason: a urine sample. Her request immediately leaves me out of oxygen. The MEDICAL secretary then tells Beth to “faire pipi” in the cup, which, by the way, is how my three-year-old nephew refers to going to the bathroom. All right, no need to negotiate. Beth, just go contort yourself to fit into the matchbox that she indicated to be the bathroom. After a few minutes waiting for Beth, I wonder if she will manage to get out of there. Maybe she is stuck? I almost ask the secretary for a shoehorn, just in case, because I have to help with this situation. OK, she’s out now. But, here’s the best part . . . When Beth asks the medical secretary to take the sample, she’s told to bring it along into the waiting room. The jovial employee does not want to be part of it. “I wash my hands of this” is what the scrub-wearing Pontius Pilate is thinking. So, we enter the waiting room, which was packed with about a dozen other people also having a nice coffee moment. I mean, holding plastic “coffee cups,” each person making a touching effort to hide the content. Like different schools of painting, there also are different ways to wrap a paper towel around a cup to mask the obvious: single twirl, reversed loop, square top, etc. People can be very creative if they have no choice. Cheers everybody! And embarrassed looks. In comes the doctor. Smooth as a violin bow. Looks like Dracula with a hangover. “Follow me.” Well, we’ll follow his cigarette smell. It might just be easier. “Take a seat.” Not so easy, as there is so much smoke in his office that we can hardly see the chair. Four minutes and a few questions later, Beth no longer is considered a potential threat to national health. Such a relief. As we rushed down the stairs, scared that the cracker might crumble on our heads, we found ourselves thinking that if not for the love of France, we would have been on the first plane back to the States to enjoy turkey and stuffing the next day. Maël Saunier is a French avocat (attorney), born somewhere between the Alps and the city of Lyon and who lived in Philadelphia for 18 months. After experiencing symptoms of Saint-Marcelin cheese withdrawal, Maël had to move back to France, bringing along a nice little souvenir from Pennsylvania: his wife Beth, who he had married in the meantime.