Ken vs. French Bank (or how i learned to love the bomb)

So, here i sit in McDonalds using their free wi-fi (which is pronounced wee-fee here (think the cost of nintento's new system)). I feel justified in its use as i just returned the five euros in extra change the cashier accidentally gave me after i paid.

So, i imagine you may have heard about what a nightmare French beauracracy is. Let me say this: the exagerations are true. My story begins last week when i was ambushed in the lobby of Sciences Po by a representative of BNP Paribas, the largest bank in Paris. It seems the French banks fight tooth and nail to get Sciences Po kids to open accounts, and, thusly, this seeminly nice lady was offering me eighty euros just to open up a bank account (which i needed, among other things, to pay for my annual metro pass). I happily signed her forms and made an appointment for the following friday. She told me what to bring in and promised that 90% of the work would be done before i arrived and that everything would go quickly. Ha!

Arriving at the designated hour on Friday i couldn't help but notice that the young women in front of me seemed to be talking to the secretary about the same lady who i had an appointment with. This young woman explained she had called and cancelled her 2:30 appointment and was slotted in instead for 3:30, the precise time of my appointment.
When i got to the receptionist and explained, appointment card in hand, that i in fact had an appointment with same individual at the same time she didn't seem to believe me. Without looking at my appointment card she said, "Yes, yes. Have a seat and i will see if i can find someone to help you."

I took a seat in the tiny, busy waiting area. After half an hour I went back up to the desk to see if i had been forgotten. "No," she shrugged, "someone will see you when we have someone available." Fifteen minutes after that she seemed to just notice me sitting in the now empty waiting room and called me up to the counter. "What exactly are you here for?," she queried as if she had never seen me before. After explaining that we had talked twice before and that i had an appointment for 45 minutes earlier she decided to check my appointment card.

"Oh, look at that.", she said, "It says right here, 3:30 on friday." To this point her simple literacy was her most admirable quality. She again asked me to have a seat and said she would find someone to help me. After another fifteen minutes she called me up again and informed me that none of the account people would be available before the end of the day, but that my dossier was already set up and i had only to sign a few things. She had her young assistant take and photocopy my i.d. and school documents, then produced a sheaf of papers that all required signatures and initials in multiple places.

After signing these i was handed your usually legal mumbo-jumbo and told that i could be on my way. "Um," i ventured, "is that all? Don't i get cheques or a bank card or something?"

"Oh, you will have to come back next week for that. Bye."

"Do i need an appointment?," i asked, if only to rub in how useless my previously made appointment had been.

"No. Bye."

So, off i went.

---

Today, girding myself for another beaureucratic guantlet, i headed to Sciences Po's administrative department to get my ID at the time allotted for those of us who's last names began with R or S. I arrived half an hour ahead of time in hopes of getting out of there before Christmas.

Long story short, it was explained to me that insurance proof i had was insufficient and i would have to provide further documentation. But, if i left a cheque to cover Sciences Po's own insurance program i could have my student card and would be able to return with the proper documents tomorrow at which time said cheque would be returned.

And so, once more into the breach. I went back to BNP, it now being well into 'next week', hoping against hope that i might be able to come away with some cheques. After ten minutes in line at reception i was speaking with the very same woman i had seen on Friday. After checking her computer to see if the chequebook was in she informed that my account was not open and that i still had papers to sign and should have made an appointment.

Fuming, i reminded her that i had signed the papers in question on that very reception desk using her very own pen. I pointed to her assistant who confirmed my story. Well, she announced, i would have to see someone.

I got put with a young fellow who seemed to be in on his day off judging by his jeans and t-shirt. Upon arriving in his office he requested all the same documents i had provided the week before. I furnished them again, complaining loudly that i had done all this. After several trips in and out of his office, and furious taping at his computer, he announced that, yes, i had in fact already done all of this.

"So," he asked, "did you get an email telling you your cheques were ready?"

"What, what email?"

"Who told you your cheques were ready?"

"The receptionist downstairs told me to come in next week."

"So you didn't get an email?"

"No."

"Oh, well that explains why your cheques aren't ready. You have to wait for your email."

Not being a total prick he was able to provide me with a direct withdrawal form which i could use for Sciences Po and to get my metro pass. With my not fantastic french, though, he was initially under the impression that i wanted a withdrawal on credit, and not an authorized withdrawal form. I had to preempt his little speech on how it looked bad to make an overdraft withdrawal before i had made my first depost.

Anywho, off i went to Sciences Po to spend fifteen minutes waiting for the particular secretary, who had helped me early, to become available. It turns out that, after checking with her supervisor, the original insurances documents i had were sufficient and i didn't need that automatic withdrawal form i had fought so desperatley to get.

In sum, i have a student card but still no cheques: Bank 2, Ken 0.