Est-ce que c'est urgent?

So yet another week has passed when I have been a complete failure in writing a blog.

I have been a busy little French thing, scurrying to and from the lycée and going through the ridiculously long and painful administration tasks. I've had a lot of fun too, don't get me wrong but today, oh today, my blog is traversing down a bitter route.

The first day I was here, I made my merry way to a bank which had been recommended to me by several people. Société Genérale. My skin crawls at the mere mention. On arrival, I was extremely surprised to see that, unlike in the Cambridge branch of HSBC [and indeed in any self-respecting bank in England], with its high-tech machines in which you can do almost anything and people in suits almost begging you to ask them for help, there were just two chairs and an important looking secretary behind a desk. In my broken French, I explained that I needed a student bank account, please can I have one, thank you very much. Alas, my dear ladies and gentleman, as most things in France, it is not quite so simple. The question followed which I have begun to loathe "est-ce que c'est urgent?". My brain pulsed with sarcastic retorts, but all I could muster was a false smile of exasperation and a "oui". The receptionist smiled at me with the air of understanding my situation and gave me an appointment for the Saturday.

Saturday came and again, off I toddled to set up my bank account. I was greeted by the same, smiley receptionist and whisked away into another small office. It was all pretty standard stuff, which I won't trouble you too much with, except to say that they actually have a catalogue of cards you can choose from. I smiled politely as she flicked through each glossy page, showing me cards with images of horses, of tiny islands across the world, of giraffes, of cartoon characters. Hell, I probably could have chosen one with the Queen Mother on it [god rest her soul]. My selection complete (for anyone who actually gives a crap, as I'm pretty sure I don't), I went for the 'Collection Chez Elles'. Card chosen, most of the terms and conditions understood, I stepped out into the fresh air with a smile on my face.

This afternoon, as I left the bank for the third time, I left the bank muttering "the [insert swear word ici, if you wish] French".

See grievances with Société Genérale;

The amount of hidden charges
On my first encounter with the Société Genérale, as I sat opposite the lady with chic clothes and shiny hair, she asked me if I would like to choose my own PIN. I responded with yes, why not? Who wouldn't want to choose their PIN? People who don't want to pay 9 euros for this privilege my friends, that's who. Then there's the amount that they charge for the card. Yes, you have to pay for a bank card, which you use to spend your money. Then there's all these other little charges for setting up the bank account, as well as the add-ons that you can get which could cost you a fortune. They probably charge you for sitting in their swanky seats.

The sheer amount of time you have to waste to get things done
So, almost two weeks after I opened my bank account, I am still without a bank card, surely the most important part of banking, no? I would like to ask these smarmy women at the bank whether they could live for even a day without their bank card. Mais non.

The ridiculous Catch 22s.
Okay, so to choose your PIN for the bank card, you have to phone a number. To phone a number you need, well, a phone. To have a phone you need a bank card... The mind boggles.

The staff in my particular branch
On telling the staff in Nogent today that I don't have a phone, they proceeded to look at me as though I had just rolled in a pile of dog shit and entered their bank to deliberately share the wonderful aroma. I'm not sure they understand that it's their fault that I don't have a phone... Secondly, listening doesn't seem to come very easily to these creatures. For example, on our first 'rendez-vous', I told them specifically that I live in a HOUSE which is ATTACHED to another house but is A SEPARATE HOUSE. House emphasized. This afternoon, I went in and said that I need to get insurance for said house. 'Venez à quatorze heures'. Okay, so I returned at 2 o'clock, only to have a huge wad of paper shoved in my face [I wasn't even invited into the office this time] and to be asked for my signature, without the time to read the conditions, because 'j'ai des clients qui m'attendent'. I AM A 'CLIENT' WHO IS 'ATTEND'ING. I made the mistake of making her customers wait a further 10 seconds to ask her (very politely) where on earth my card had got to. The response, you have to wait. Well yes, I believe that is the motto of France. Sod Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité. They should change it to Il faut attendre. Anyway, on returning chez moi, I decided to read the conditions of the insurance. It states that I live in an APARTMENT on the GROUND FLOOR with TWO ROOMS. They even bothered to add a veranda... Hey face, meet palm.


I'm not sure if it's just this branch in particular who seems fairly incapable of doing the most simplest of deeds, or even just because I'm a stupid English girl, but I am pining for a bank where I can walk in, get an appointment straight away and walk out 20 minutes later, bank card in the post and no charges.

Exhale. And publish.