La gendarmerie

The most stressful two weeks of my time here are OVER! The funny thing is... I was incredibly happy the whole time, with the exception of a few nights of complete worry. It's the sun, I tell ya. That's what sunshine does. It makes people happy.

All right, it's time for a story again. Turn around if you don't want to hear it.

To refresh your memory, two weeks ago from today I checked my bank account online and noticed a transaction that had just posted. A transaction I did not make. So early the next morning, I made my way to the bank, cancelled my card, and made an appointment to speak with my banker the next day. The next day when I went in, I had to write a letter, basically just stating I did not make the purchase and that I wanted the money refunded back to my account. Okay, no problem. Everything was fine, and I continued on with life, waiting for the money to be returned to me. It was not a large amount of money, but enough not to want to pay it.

The next Tuesday (a week later from the original posting), all hell broke loose. I had a nice morning. Went to school, taught a few lessons, and then came home for lunch like I normally do. I checked my bank account to see if I'd gotten my money back yet. And I couldn't believe my eyes. I panicked. I cried and literally told myself out loud that this was a dream. You guys, there was a transaction posted to my account for 861.50 euros. ONE transaction. No, you're not seeing quadruple, triple, or even double. Eight hundred sixty one euros. That's right. You heard me. Let me just say once again that it was eight hundred sixty one euros. And fifty cents. The two fradulent transactions caused my account balance to reach NEGATIVE 855 euros. Oh. My. God. In the U.S., that would be horrible. (I think. Right? Never happened to me.) Apparently though in France, you can do that, as long as you pay it back.

After lunch, I went back to school and asked Emilie, the teacher of my final two classes that afternoon, if I could skip my last class of the day. Immediately, she responded with a fantastic, "Yes!" Didn't even ask why. But I told her anyway. She was extremely nice, gave me her phone number, and told me to text or call her from the bank if I needed her to come over.

All through my class I had to fake being happy. All I could think about was this bank thing. I'll admit, being in class was a nice little escape from reality, especially since all we were doing was going through our box from the United States. But after class, I booked it to the bank. When I arrived, I kindly explained what had just happened. The woman working at the front counter (the same one who had helped me the week before) was taken aback and helped explain what I needed to do. I appreciated her worry for my situation. And then she told me I'd have to write a letter again. Ha! There was a big line of people behind me. Good thing there was another guy working at the counter, otherwise all these French people would be waiting for Little Miss English-speaker to take her time writing out a [very important] letter with more French bank jargon than she even knows. The woman started telling me what to include, and I just asked if it was necessary to write something specific or not. Basically she just said I could write it however I wanted, as long as I say I didn't make the charge. And so I did. In my simple French. Something like this:

Today I saw, for the first time, a charge on my account for 861,50 euros.

It was made by someone on the internet.

I contest that I did not make the charge.

I would like the money put back into my account as soon as possible.

Betsy Sanford

There was more to it than that, but I just did that to show how awkward it is to write a "formal" letter in another language. Very to-the-point and just stating the facts. The woman suggested some things to include, and as she told them to me and I wrote them down, she commented on my fine ability to write in French. *Merci.*

She told me she would give everything to Florence, my actual banker, as soon as she returns to work after being ill.

So I waited.

I told Fabienne about the situation, and she began worrying. Like a mother. (I mean an actual mother. Not a mother...) It kind of made me happy. Not that she was worried, but just to know she cared. And I knew she'd go back with me if I needed her to. But anyway, she suggested that if nothing happened by Thursday (two days later), I go back to the bank to speak with someone.

And so I did.

Thursday I finished work around 2:30. I went right to the bank, ready to find out about any progress on my situation. Once there, I learned there had been no progress. Hello people!!!! This is not 100 euros we're talking about here. It's 861. That's a LOT of money. I don't have time to wait around for it. The woman (same one again... I don't even know her name!) tried to make me an appointment with another banker for the following Tuesday (which is today). I absolutely insisted that I talked with somebody that day. I would wait hours if I had to. I had nothing else to do. I just wanted to know what the deal was with my money (and why no progress had been made). I could tell she didin't know exactly what to do. I tried explaining the urgency of this. I almost started crying, and it was obvious. It was just SO hard to try to get all my answers and explain my reasoning when 1) everything's in French and it's hard to do stuff in the first place, 2) this is a situation I've never been in before, so it's the first time I'm doing this regardless of language or country, 3) there are people waiting behind me, and 4) I am in the hole 855 euros. I told her I NEEDED to talk to someone. And that I can't even EAT because I have no money. (Thankfully I have friends and Fabienne here who were more than happy to help me out until this was fixed. So no, I didn't actually starve. But bank lady didn't need to know this.)

Finally she hooked me up with Daniel. Daniel is an older gentleman. Maybe in his late 50s. He was very kind, and I explained my whole situation to him. The problem with him was that he spoke really fast. And when I told him he was speaking too fast, he would try to help me in English. Um, excuse me sir, but my French is way better than your English. "Hello" and "eight hundred" in English really doesn't help the situation. Let's just stick to French. Of course I didn't say this to him, but I was thinking it. He pulls out all my files from Florence (who was still out sick), and goes over everything to make sure he knows exactly what I want. He had me fill out this form, read my two letters I'd written, and made a phone call. He was very on top of it and seemed concerned about me getting my money back. It's just that whenever I tried repeating his words to him (to make sure I understood... this is important stuff!!!!), he would just repeat it again in super fast French. Okay whatever.

He told me I had to go to the gendarmerie. That's the police station. Great! He tries explaining to me where it is. Actually, I thought I already knew. There's one by the cinema, but he insisted it wasn't that one. So I left the bank and tried to quickly find this other gendarmerie. Couldn't find it. I stopped a nice middle-aged couple on the street to ask them, and they said I'd need a car to get there. FANTASTIC! So I started walking back toward the school to see if maybe there would be a teacher who could take me. On my way, I decided to phone Fabienne and see if she could easily explain where this place is. At first, she told me it's right by the cinema. But she was surprised when I said that Daniel told me I had to go to the other one. She helped direct me over the phone, and I was quite sure I knew the general direction to walk. She said I wouldn't need a car.

So here I am, sweating my face off, still wearing my nice pants/work clothes, dying of thirst, sulking in self-pity because I can't even afford to buy a croissant, and wanting nothing but my 861 euros back. I walked further than I thought necessary, so I went inside a hotel closeby to ask for directions. The girl working assured me I needed to go to the gendarmerie by the cinema. She said if I tried going to this other one (supposedly nearby), they wouldn't help me or even let me in.

Sooooo I walked back to the center of town, near to the cinema, and entered the gendarmerie that I was sure I needed in the first place. And it was. (I was tempted to tell Daniel when I saw him again, but it wasn't necessary, so I didn't.) I was in the police station for about one hour. It was quite the experience. The men there were really really nice. It wasn't intimidating or anything at all. Basically I just sat one one side of the desk while a police officer sat on the other, typing up a police report. I had to explain everything that went on, in great detail. He was super nice, and I really enjoyed talking with him. While he typed what I said, we worked together to make it sound perfect. He started typing the report without asking me, and can I tell you what he wrote? Can I just please tell you? He wrote this (in French):

I am of American nationality, but I read and understand French perfectly.

Perfectly?! That was great! I laughed about it. More than once. And he explained that he really thinks perfectly means that even if there is some hesitation, I can still communicate totally effectively. That was cool. I just like the fact that the French POLICE have said I understand French perfectly. That makes it offical, right?! Yes, I'm boasting. Why not?

Oh, and it's true. French people just peck at the keyboard. I swear they never take typing lessons. I'm not saying I type with my fingers on the right keys (in fact, I only use three fingers and one thumb when i type. weird, I know), but these people really just poke around.

Anyway, after writing the letter, he had me read it over and make any corrections. I thought to myself, "Well, what kind of corrections? Can I make grammar/mechanics corrections?" Because I really wanted to. Since there were a few things he needed to add (words he left out completely, which even he would agree with), I decided to request that he "un-uppercase" all the F's on every français. It was driving me nuts. He knew I was hesitant, but it was clear I wanted it perfect. I mean come on, it's my first French police report. Who wouldn't want it to be perfect? Plus, he wrote that I had finished my university studies in French, so why would I want whoever reads this to know that my studies left me thinking the F on français should be capitalized? I mean come on, that's like, French 1.

I left that place feeling so proud. I may not have had my money back yet, and I may have been extremely poor, but I was proud that I'd just done something SO out of the ordinary in France. So difficult and annoying to deal with, even in the U.S. And I just did it. In France. In French. This is like the ultimate measure of how far my language has come since I was 15. When I was 15, do you think I could file a police report in French? No.

I returned to the bank about 45 minutes before closing, and I learned that Daniel was gone for the day. I was a tad annoyed, but I went back the next morning, submitted all my papers, and kept my fingers crossed that everything would go well. Daniel assured me that I would have my money back in 8-10 days. "Ten days," he told me. Okay thanks. If I can't understand "huit à dix jours" in French, how the hell do you think I could have understood everything else you've said to me, let alone file a freaking police report with the gendarme? Thanks for trying, sir, but I'll pass on your English.

I have been a bit worried about this since then, hoping everything would work out the way it is supposed to. And guess what? TODAY I FINALLY GOT MY MONEY BACK!!!! This has been a two-week ordeal, and really, that's not too bad. It was just a matter of time. I knew it was. But it was not knowing what exactly would happen and when exactly it would happen that kept me worried. And now not only do I have my money back, but I also have a copy of my first ever police report and a paper with VICTIME written in bold capital letters. And I survived. :)

You better believe I'm spending my day off tomorrow shopping for everything I've needed more of in the last two weeks: toothpaste, chapstick, conditioner, toilet paper, and FOOD. (You really become resourceful when you have NO money!)

And that, my friends, is the great story of Betsy and the bank.