Unbelievable. Just back from the bank. I didn’t freaking pass my own signature test.
So, I don’t know about you, but I happen to sign things a bit differently in different situations. Like, for example, if you have to sign for a Fed Ex delivery, I’m not going to make sure my signature is pretty, but more like a rushed scribble. I tend to do this on most receipts too. Maybe on an official document, I’ll take more care. But they’re all the same general shape with the same nuances. So apparently, when the postman came to my door with my “proof I live here” card, I did my signature shorthand. Oh no this does not fly here.
To digress for a moment, I’d just like to say that I’m incredibly tolerant of the famously nonsensical ways of French bureaucracy. I don’t get angry, and when processes are ridiculous, I accept that that’s way things are. No complaining. When I tried to get my tax stamps reimbursed from the error on my carte de séjour, I didn’t spend the day crying and moaning because the tabac where I bought them told me I had to go to a the trésor publique in the 2nd arrondissement, where they told me to go to the building in the 15th, where they told me to go back to the préfecture in the 11th. (Side note: if you need some 55 Euro ones, I’ll sell them to you for less.) I don’t talk loudly because the French think Americans talk to loud. I make sure to always say bonjour when entering a store, merci, au revoir, bon soirée, bon soir, bon journée.
So. Mr. Bank asks me to sign above on the card. His female colleague watches on. I sign exactly like it is. Oh no no no. That is not the same as how you signed on your account documents. I compare the two. The only difference is that the L of Leonora is bigger and E of Epstein is slightly larger. Then he has me try to replicate that one. It’s not good enough. Finally, I lost my cool (well, as much as Little Leo does). “Seriously?! I really don’t know what to tell you. All of these are me. What, do you want the postman to come and take a picture of me signing? Or what - maybe I have a personality disorder where I have different signatures? I’m sorry, but you just saw me do this 5 times.”
Mr. Bank is surprised that I raised my voice-his eyebrows raise.
Female colleague in expected French bitchyness: “You know, this isn’t the United States where anything goes. In France we do things differently, and you have to do—”
I ugh audibly.
Mr. Bank: “Okay, okay. Look,” he says in a way that is trying to get me to cool down. “I am just going to take care of this. I’ll figure it out and call you later. Your card will be ready Tuesday.”
Haha! Damn straight, la banque.
