Today's Adventure: French Banking

I had a list of things to do today and decided to tackle the worst one right off the bat, before I chickened out. Do I need a French bank account? Not really. What I need is a French debit card, which is the chip-and-PIN variety we don't use in the U.S. There are places here that don't take American-type cards, most notably the train station, where you have to have a chip-and-PIN to use the guichet automatique. So I need a card.

I knew this was going to be a pain, but I was determined to stay positive about it. I went to the Credit Agricole downtown, because all the other exchange teachers seem to have had an easy time of it at the CA. Not me, of course. First of all, French banks want you to have an appointment for everything; you can make appointments on the phone, but since I have an extreme aversion to phones, I always just have to go in person to make an appointment to come back later... in person. I recognize that it's inefficient, but it's not like I've got anything else to do right now.

We could have all saved ourselves a lot of time if the lady had simply said, "I'm sorry, but we don't need your business." Instead, she did an impressive re-enactment of my favorite How To Deliver Excellent French Customer Service video, part of which included a twenty-minute intermission wherein she took a smoke break went to ask the bank's director a bunch of questions about the crazy American girl in the lobby.

She came back armed with a list of "necessary documents," each more ridiculous than the last, starting with a statement from my American bank (why? Why does that matter??) and ending with some form that would require me to present myself at the ever-loving Treasury Office.

Then we had a fight about my pay stub. She needed a copy for tax purposes, she claimed, and I reminded her politely that I'm not drawing a French salary and therefore don't pay French taxes. (And anyway, this is a checking account, so why are my taxes any of her business?) She insisted that she needed my pay stub so that she could get my tax ID number, to which I countered that those aren't printed on our pay stubs and if that's all she needs, I can give her my American social security number. No, my tax ID, she says, and I tell her that in the U.S. they're the same thing, and she rolled her eyes at me. Like she knows more about the American tax system than I do. All of which is irrelevant, I remind her, because I DON'T PAY FRENCH TAXES.

At this point, I opted to take the very American approach of leaving and going to the bank next door. Thank you, capitalism!

So off I went to the Credit Lyonnais, which you probably know from here. And it was great. The lady I spoke to there was calm and friendly and made getting the "necessary documents" seem quite reasonable and easy. Some things are ridiculous and you just have to accept it-- for example, it's not enough that I have a written statement from Miss Cake that I'm living in her home, but I also have to present copies of her I.D. and her proof of residency. Fingers crossed on that one. I've got an appointment on Friday to go back and actually open the account. We'll see how it goes.