Woop Woop! That's the Sound of the Police!

I forgot to mention that after I tried to find a Western Union while I was in Paris, I hoped to stumble upon a police station.  Naturally, I was SOL. 

            Since I knew I needed to file a report, I waited until Tuesday to make my way to the police station, which, yes, I had seen closed before.  (I waited until Tuesday because everything is usually closed on Sundays and Mondays.  No point in walking to empty buildings, right?)  Luckily, it was open.  I told them that I needed to file a police report for stolen property.  I guess because Belley is so small and crime-free (aka Pleasantville), the officer asked me if it was stolen or had I lost it.  I was sure I had been robbed.  So, I told him.  Then he took a list of everything that was missing.  Then he told me that he couldn’t actually help me because it had been stolen in Paris, so I would have to go to the Gendarmerie, which wasn’t too far away.  (Because nothing in Belley is too far.)  I thanked him and walked to the spot.

            I walked around the parking barricade to go inside.  There wasn’t anyone sitting inside to receive me or to guide me, so I just looked around and saw that there was a button.  It said to push for service.  Like Alice in Wonderland, I did what I was told.  I pushed.  I walked in a circle and stood still and shifted my weight back and forth while I was waiting for someone to come.  No response.  Since I could hear someone in the office chatting away, I pressed again.  Almost immediately, someone came out and told me that he was busy and that since it was 11:45, I’d have to come back after 2.  Because, oh right.  Of course the Gendarmerie takes a 2-hour lunch break.  That just makes sense.  Since crime takes breaks.

            Nearly about to weep because France was getting under my skin, I walked back to the lycée until my classes ended at 5.  Then I made my way over.  Naturally, now I was 2^nd in line for the man’s services.  I just went to wait on the sidelines because no way was I gonna press that button when I got in.  Surely, the couple before me had pressed it.  Sadly, though, the man who came in after me didn’t seem to feel the same way.  He pressed the button.  No response.  Phew.  But shortly after, another woman came in for something and she pressed the button.  The same man came out and huffily said, “A chacun son tourne.”  (To each one his turn.)  Okay.  Loud and clear, dawg.

            We all just patiently waited.  Well, I waited patiently.  The others were just complaining basically nonstop.  Which is pretty typical.  Fact: the French complain a lot.  So then the guy came out and recognized the guy who had come after, and smiled and patted his back as they walked inside together.  A few minutes later, he came out to ask the couple before me what they needed.  The lady had lost their IDs.  So he went in and came back with some papers.  Then the man went back inside and maybe 30 minutes later, the two came out again.  Guy went back inside.  Then came back and called me inside.

            When we got back to his desk, I sat down and told him the story.  He then told me that I shouldn’t have waited so long to come to the police.  I told him I had assumed that they were closed.  But he informed me that the Gendarmerie is open 7 days a week.  Good to know.

            Then we went through my story and suddenly, he was not a jerk at all.  We were basically BFFLs.  I told him that we were changing at Franklin D. Roosevelt.  He laughed and I nodded.  (I thought he was laughing because of the sadness of it being taken at one of the few American stops in Paris.  Nicole’s Jean-Marie had said, “L’audacité.”)  But then he told me he was laughing because I drop the accent.  So what that sentence would look like was, “J’étais en train de changer de ligne du métro à Franklin D. Roosevelt.”  He excused himself and said he wasn’t laughing at my French but at my accent.  Every single time he started laughing when I would drop my accent.  But, I mean, if something’s American, I’m gonna claim it.  (It should probably be noted that French people pronounce Franklin Roosevelt like Fronk-leen Ruse-eh-velt.)

            When he asked me if there had been any young people next to me who looked suspicious, I said no.  He asked a few times, though.  And I kept saying no.  He really wanted there to have been some hooligans.  I think it’s because of what Nicole had been telling me about these young kids being sent to steal from people on the metro.  Maybe this officer wanted me to be his ticket to being part of a giant investigation.  No dice.

            We made a list of everything I lost, and sometimes the other officers in the room would help us muddle our way through questioning. 

            I got home around 6:45.  By the time I left, all of the officers and I were laughing and being besties.  It almost made me want to have a reason to go back.  But then I remembered that that would actually be the worst ever.

Factually,
Jess

P.S. The title is in reference to this song from the movie La Haine.