At the crack of dawn this morning (well the crack of dawn for a Saturday on which I wanted to sleep in, aka 9 am) I rolled out of bed for my Titre de Sejour rendez-vous at OFII.
The Titre de Sejour is a sticker that the French government puts into your passport in order to affirm that you have official resident status in France. If you're a student like me, it allows you to return to the U.S. over the holidays and get back into France afterward or to travel around Europe officially. This sticker (in addition to your visa) is very important, and lots of administrative offices need to see it to know that you haven't forged anything and that the government knows you are in France.
As I was saying, at the crack of dawn I put on my most french outfit (option number one from my last post), gathered my documents, and made my way to OFII. The sun was shining after weeks of clouds and there was a soft dusting of snow quickly melting to create a sheen on the pavement,...good omens for an administrative rendez-vous.
After waiting for so long at OFII that I almost dozed off with my head up against a wall (because you wait for everything in France) I was called into a room for preliminary questioning. "Nationality? Height and weight? Eye color? Do you smoke? Are you pregnant? When were your last vaccinations?" I briefly panicked at the last question, cursing my doubt that I would need my vaccination record in France. A fear gripped my stomach. I knew I'd be sent away and told to return when I did have my vaccination record. Contrary to my fear, the woman simply asked me to recall my record by memory the best I could. Almost in disbelief I followed the woman to a room to be weighed in kilos and to get my height in centimeters.
Here in France I've not exactly been eating nutritiously. I do my best to have at least one serving of veggies a day, I munch on fruit all day long, and I even try not to eat solely bread and cheese every day (though it's a hard battle)...but my downfall is sweets. I absolutely crave something sweet every day as well as something chocolate. Therefore my cupboard is filled with oreos, chocolate truffles, chocolate cereal, and nutella. I also eat about every three hours. In any case, I'd been feeling a bit heavier than usual lately.
I stepped onto the scale, the woman scrawled some numbers and said, "tres bien". I was tres bien? I had no idea what my weight was but if I'm tres bien then bring on more oreos. Her words gave me a thought- if every scale measured weight by words perhaps individuals would feel less obsessed with it. Manger plus, tres bien, normal, pas bien, risque a la sante - perhaps those words would be a better alternative to numbers
The preliminary woman left me in a new waiting area from which I was called into the secondary examination room. "Take off all that." The next lady motioned at my top half shrouded in layers. Obligingly I removed all my outer layers and asked, "Ca marche?" "No, that doesn't work" she said back in French. "Remove all of it. Nude." Come again? She wanted me to do what? Feeling quite awkward and covering my lady bits, I followed her instructions and was lead to an x-ray machine. "Touchez." With a sigh and a tiny huff I dropped my modesty and touched the panel with both hands. "No. With those." She motioned again at my top half as my mouth fell open in disbelief. Could this get anymore weird? As I showed her my best "I hate this" frown and became intimate with the cold panel in front of me, she positioned my arms and took the x-ray. "Fini." I practically dashed for my clothes.
More waiting and then into an examination with a male doctor. My heart beat quickly as I imagined failing a blood pressure test or worse, having my bottom half examined. The doctor ushered me in, related his knowledge about Alabama & Mississippi, asked what course of studies I was following in Toulouse, checked my x-ray, checked boxes on documents while we chatted, and ushered me out again. I was relieved.
The final phase in getting the Titre de Sejour loomed ahead. With excited anticipation I sat listening to American songs over the radio in the waiting room wondering why the French love our music, our cinema, our celebrities, etc. A woman not dressed in a lab coat showed me into a small room. In a pointed, business-like manner she asked for my 55 euro Titre fee (there's always a fee for whatever you're trying to get when it comes to the French government), examined my passport, certificate of residence, and clicked away on the computer. Silently I sat examining the pristine whiteness of the surrounding walls while hoping that my documents were sufficient. A yellow sticker under a shiny clear protective one was stuck onto the passport page above my visa..."Au Revoir." Just to make sure, I asked, "C'est tout? C'est le Titre de Sejour la?" "Oui."
In exiting the OFII building I thought back on the Titre rendez-vous. Quick (by French standards), efficient, and finished. A smile spread across my face. Sometimes things go exactly the way they should here, no missing documents or numbers, no 'return another day', no 'you didn't follow the right procedure'.....this was one of those times.
~Tam in Toulouse
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