The French Tax Office Visit

 

A 35-minute drive to Céret to visit the French Tax office 

A payment was due Oct 1, but it was to be removed automatically from our bank account.

It's a pretty drive through the country with vineyards and cherry orchards.

We've gone to Céret many times in the past to see exhibitions in the musée or to show guests the Picasso  ceramic collection, visit artists, sit in a café. We've gone alone or with friends. 

We found the tax office next to  a school where the students were on strike as they are all over France. They want more teachers and better classroom conditions.

Inside - a man assigned us a number 516 and said we would be seen in room 4. The waiting room was almost full. I took a single chair and the man next to me offered to switch to another single seat so Rick and I could be together.

A screen regular beeped telling which number was next and which cubby that number should go to. Usually I take a book to read when I have to wait, but it was in the car...I did my second favorite thing -people watching.

• A small woman probably in her 70s was dressed in jeans and a pink top her white hair was cut into a stylish bob. She was short and exuded energy.
• A black woman was model beautiful in her beige form-fitting dress.
• The man, who changed seats, had brought his mother. She had a prettily-painted cane. When her turn came he helped her ever so gently. 
• A number of people were over-weight but one man was obese enough for two people. He sat in a chair and over-lapped into others on each side. After he left, the next person to sit where the main part of his body had been, realized the chair was now broken.
• A woman held her baby son on the verge of falling asleep.

For each, the writer inside me, made up a story. 

We waited about 35 minutes. The number screen seemed to be blocked, but a young woman came to get number 516.

Obviously our person had not read the Grumpy Government Worker manual. This is not just a French thingie about grouchy government employees. I suspected that the Massachusetts Department of Motor Vehicles created the manual for the world. I don't know how it is today, but in the 70s when I was treated politely instead of with growls and frowns, I wrote Governor Dukakis complimenting her. I didn't keep a copy of his thank you.

The tax woman quickly answered our questions, typed the address changes into the computer (next year we will see if it worked), spoke slowly to make sure we understood but not so slowly that we felt she was talking down to us. 

Leaving, the GPS decided to direct us via the next left, the next left, the next left, the next left until we decided to try leaving town on our inner map.

It worked. When we came to the Pont du Diable, the Devil's Bridge, we knew where we were.

The legend goes when they built the 22.3 meter bridge in 1312, they asked the devil to do it. He said yes, if he could have the soul of the first person to cross the bridge. The village townspeople sent a cat over the bridge first. However, just to be sure no one crossed the bridge for many years. What happened to the cat is not recorded.  

Instead of walking across the bridge, we drove home, our mission accomplished. It was time for lunch.