On Friday night, going home from a friend's house, I got in a bicycle accident. A car turned right and didn't see me in the bike lane. I braked to avoid crashing into the car, and wiped out trying to stop.
Since I was bleeding all over my favourite polo shirt, I had to got to the hospital to get stitches (two under my eyebrow). On the way to the hospital I lost my house keys. My roommate is in New York until the end of September, so the next morning I had to wander around for two hours to find a locksmith that was open on Saturday during August vacations. When I did eventually find one, he said he couldn't change the lock because it was lunch time! I almost jumped over the counter and strangled him!
After he had his lunch, he came over, charged me €800, and broke the lock. But then said that he didn't have the right lock to replace mine and would have to come back on Monday morning to finish it! AAAAAGHHH!!! WHY would you break a lock if you knew you couldn't replace it!?! I had to carry a screwdriver around with me all weekend so I could jimmy the lock open with it.
Then Monday, my bank card was declined when I tried to use it. Of course there is no Customer Service number to phone in France, so I had to go in to the branch and talk to someone who said that it would be fixed tomorrow — which, of course it wasn't. So I went back to the branch and was told I had to make an appointment with the branch manager to talk about my card. Now four days later –during which time I am unable to get money from my card– I meet with the bank manager and she tells me my account has been closed "on suspicion of money laundering". I had taken cash from my student line of credit at a bank machine to deposit in my French account to pay for tuition fees. Apparently, this is completely not allowed in France, to, you know, deposit money into your account, then try to use it later! Account closed — No ifs, ands or buts.
If it wasn't so bloody impossible to open a bank account in this country I would have simply said "Fuck you" and opened and account elsewhere. But instead I spent half an hour screaming and being a general asshole (because that's how to get things done in France) before the bank manager agreed to reopen my account with a €100 weekly limit. "But it's my money. Shouldn't I be able to access it whenever I want?" I said. "Non" she answered, "not in these circumstances."
I also got in a big argument on Wednesday with my loser ex-rommate who doesn't want to give me my €1100 deposit back because he wants me to pay to have the room repainted.
I think I've said "I hate France" more times in these past seven days than all the past twelve months put together. And it makes me wonder, did I actually ever, even once, say "I hate Japan" when I was living there?
Two adventures abroad that could not be more different.
