It wasn’t the best morning today. We were both tired from a very long walk yesterday from our apartment to Eglise Saint Eustache where we met Melody and Steve for an organ recital. The distance, as best I could calculate, was about 3 miles — but it was cold and we walked at a good clip. So, this morning was a slow start. After coffee, George went up to his studio to paint. I planned to continue reading the book I’d picked up here at the Village Voice bookshop,  Ararat: in Search of the Mythical Mountian by Frank Westerman, a Dutchman.

As I was about to stretch out on the living couch, I heard the mail being delivered — a lone envelop (another joy of being in Paris — there is rarely more than one envelop when there is mail) was slipped under our door. My relaxed mood quickly turned into annoyance when I saw that it was from the bureau of taxation. I opened the letter, and without carefully reading it, but saw that the check I had paid the tax with last week was being returned. I assumed that is was because there was an interest charge (received last week) on the tax which was not included in this check.

You see – the situation was even more complicated in my mind because I had paid the tax in good time with what is called a ‘TIP” which allows the recipient of the TIP to withdraw from the donors bank account the amount designated on this little form. The TIP which I sent in a December had been returned for a reason I never quite understood. After we arrived in Paris, I went to the bureau of taxation and paid it with a check (I think I described that experience a couple of posts ago– and described how happy I was that it was easy to accomplish. But, last week we received another letter from the tax people stating there was a 10% interest charge and, I assumed, for that reason my second payment was being returned.

OH MY! Frustration! George and I discussed the situation and we decided that it wasn’t worth my time and energy to argue about the interest payment, though it was a tidy sum of 168 Euros.  However, reading my book about the tribulations of the author trying to get permission from the Turkish government to climb Mt. Ararat I changed my mind. (One has nothing to do with the other, but in my mind it was a fight against bureaucracy. I decided that, although I might have to pay the interest in the end, it was worth arguing over it.

So, at about 2:00 pm or so, I bundled up (though not nearly enough), put my papers together for the confrontation and headed out. I should add that I looked up a few key words in French so that I could express my self adequately. “I am very upset” translated: Je suis très affectée.

On the way over to the square at Saint Sulpice where the finance offices for our arrondissment are, I stopped in to see Steve and Melody for a few minutes. Steve’s brother had just arrived from Texas, they’d finished lunch and we chatted about this and that. They asked me where I was headed and after I explained, they admonished me, “Stick to your guns, don’t pay the interest….” , etc.

Now I was really psyched and fortified for the fight! Although it was very cold I decided to walk so that I would have time to go over and over my speech in my head — in French.

“I have a big problem…. It is very complicated…. I don’t speak French well… please excuse me.” And then the sequence of events, “First, this came… and I sent this… and then this happened…” and on and on. I thought I had it all down. Ready, get set — GO!

I entered the building and went directly to the office where I had paid the tax (for the second time), took a number and sat down. (My speech was running through my head like a ticker-tape). My number came up. “This is it,” I thought, “My big chance! I’m on my own!”

I approached the clerk, a middle aged man, who smiled as we greeted each other, “Bonjour Madame — Bonjour Monsier”.

“J’ai un gros problèm. C’est très compliqué” at which point he said something which made me understand that he couldn’t fix a complicated problem and that I needed to go to another office. He punched a machine and out came another ticket with‘R24’ in blue. I thanked him, we smiled and bid each other good day — “Bonne journée” (not to be confused with Bonjour).

I stopped at the information desk at the entrance of this grand building to ask where the room was where this ticket indicated I should go. The receptionist was very polite and pointed to the door opposite the one I’d just been in. ‘Merci madame — bonne journée” we echoed each other.

Through the door, I saw my number in blue above the second cubicle, R 24… and stepped in. A young woman greeted me and I began my speech again. She interrupted and said in French, Je ne parle pas anglais  (I don’t speak English) and asked if I would like her to call someone who did speak English. Feeling a little insulted, though she was only trying to be helpful without any hint of annoyance, I told her I’d prefer trying again in French. But with my second attempt she again interrupted and this time I agreed.

She made two calls, and then handed the phone to me, “Madame,” the woman on the phone said in a most gracious and accommodating tone, “would you prefer to speak in English?”

“Yes, I think it might be better. “ and now started my litany about the payments, checks, etc. this time in English, but before I could say more than a few words, she asked for my name and address. Then she asked me to give the phone to the young woman behind the desk – they spoke a little and the phone was back to me. Now, I thought the fight over the interest payment was going to start.

Speaking beautiful and perfect English, the woman explained that the original payment made by TIP had been returned because the needed computer numbers found at the bottom of the TIP were missing. She continued, “The check had been returned, not because of the interest payment, which doesn’t matter and which you certainly don’t have to pay, but because the written amount on the check does not correspond with the amount written in numbers. It is required in France.” She went on to say, “Numbers in French are very difficult and everyone has trouble learning them.” And if she hadn’t made me feel good enough by then, she added, “… just as I have trouble with numbers in English.”

Well by now, I was thinking, “I don’t believe this… how easy was this –not only easy, but civilized, polite and gracious.”

I gave the phone back to the young woman at the desk, and the English-speaker told her what to write and how to write the check out and to hand it back to me to review. When all was completed, I turned back for a moment before leaving and asked (in French), “And what error did I make just so I can learn.” The young woman smiled and pointing to the written numbers, she said, “You wrote ‘soixante’ instead of ‘six’ (sixty instead of six –the same as in English). Which meant I was paying a tax which was “one thousand sixty- hundred” — instead of ‘one thousand six-hundred…”

Parting I remarked to her, “Un comédie des erreurs!” and we both laughed!

Still very cold and feeling as though ice packs were sitting on my shoulders, I walked all the way home nonetheless thinking about how delicious the lemon yogurt I had just purchased at Le Grand Epicerie de Le Bon Marché would be.