We have a small apartment in Nice. A recent aquisition and another project. Just a makeover in comparison with some we’ve had, but not without it’s little difficulties, one of which is that it isn’t exactly “just around the corner”.
(And apologies for the seriously bad quality of the photos.)
“What have you got?”(in French obviously!). Wood and rubble mostly.
“I need to see a utility bill showing your Nice address”. Right…ok, I have this on my tablet, no problem.
“And your car registration documents”. Can’t think what that has to do with what I have in the back, but tick that…here you go.
“And your pièce d’identité”. Yes, yes… here is my driving licence.
NO?? What do you mean “No!”…
“Madame, your name doesn’t match the utility bill!”
For goodness sake…I had forgotten that it is of course in my maiden name. Why the French insist on using a name that is not mine, has not been for 26 years and will never be again, I fail to understand. Anyway it is clearly not cutting the mustard! Jeez, I only want to dump some rubbish!
“Don’t you have any other ID?” Well, obviously, yes I do…I have a passport. But I don’t actually have it on me as I wasn’t planning to leave the country…I only wanted to go to the tip!!!
Anxiety levels are now going through the roof. Thoughts of taking the entire contents of the car home again are flashing through my mind, not to mention the various vehicles bearing down on us from behind. He appears to be adamant.
Flustered and frustrated I go for last resort tactics. I try to flutter my rather dusty eyelashes and look like I might cry. He stomps off to ask The Boss. Eventually he returns with my papers, and then, addressing the part of my T-shirt where I have paint smeared across my right boob, rather than me, he announces, “Bay Number 5!”
Success! We are in!!
*This post includes some affiliate links, which means that should you decide to purchase anything, I might receive a small commission at absolutely no extra cost to you. More details on my disclosure page.