Living in France is a full-time job

I am supposed to work 12 hours a week, though it usually ends up being a modest 1-5 hours. Yet somehow I am always busy--rushing somewhere, filling out papers, waiting for something to re-open after lunch. It's a good thing I work so little, because, as it turns out, just living in France is a full-time job. If one were to break down how I spend my time during the week, it would look something like this:

Teaching: 5 hours
Preparation for teaching: 30 minutes
Dealing with French people (or waiting for the privilege to do so): 35 hours

I am beginning to understand why the French demanded a 35-hour work week: they needed those other 5 hours to deal with their fellow countrymen. Thanks to my liberal education, I entered France with an open-mind. I wouldn't want someone to believe all the stereotypes about America, so I gave no credence to the stereotypes about France. This was my first mistake. France is, in fact, a parody of itself, right down to the guy wearing a striped shirt playing the accordion.

I recently decided to get a fixed telephone line and Internet so that I could communicate with the outside world. Armed with the 5 official documents I would need to do so, I arrived at France Telecom bright and early one Monday morning. After 30 minutes, I was lead to believe that my phone line would be working in 2 days and my Internet in less than 10. Upon hearing a dial tone when I picked up the phone, I foolishly believed that my phone was working. It was not until a week later when I tried to make a call that I realized it was not. I took a deep breath and returned to visit my friends at France Telecom.

"Your phone number doesn't exist," the lady said when she looked up my account. "Your account is here, but you phone number is not in the computer. It doesn't exist. I don't know why." Well if the woman at France Telecom can't help me open a phone line, who can? "We'll have to look into it and call you back," she said and sent me on my way.

Two days later, I got a message on my cell phone saying that they had reset my account. The phone did actually work this time; now all I had to do was wait another 10 days for the Internet to kick in, a period of time I already considered absurdly long. And so I waited... and waited... and waited. After two and a half weeks there was still nothing, so I took another deep breath and headed back to France Telecom.

"Everything looks normal on your account; your Internet should work," was the explanation I got. "We can't help you. Here, call this number." This number, by the way, costs 34 centimes a minute (40 cents). So I went home and called the number, and after talking to two people (my case was so difficult they had to put me on with a specialist) for about 30 minutes, I had Internet. Good thing I had nothing else to do and could afford to go to France Telecom and sit on the phone for so long. Work could have really gotten in the way of that.