So here we are following rules and regulations

I was in the metro earlier on my way to Sciences po library for a bit of rainforest destruction with frantic nearing-the-end-of-my-library-card photocopying when my eyes hit upon one of the new ID photo booths at St Germain des Prés. In huge letters on it it says "do not laugh (joke) with your id photos". On closer inspection it reveals that one is no longer allowed to smile on pictures destined for official stuff. This got me thinking about the French, who appear to have zero regard for rules and regulations nevertheless have one for absolutely everything.

Though this is undoubtedly the sign of law-abiding and a rule of law state, it has reached proposterous proportions. Here is an example.

Take my university, Paris III la Sorbonne nouvelle, a 1960s creation only vaguely related to its older and illustrious sister, Paris Sorbonne. I passed (brilliantly I might add) all the exams last year at the end of my Fourth year of European studies and, last September, tottered off to the usual office to collect my diploma. Melisande, the friendly secretary listened to my demand and said that I had to go to a different office, somewhere on the first floor. I set off, eventually found it and came across a woman slumped at a desk and on the phone. Once she had finished (never interrupt a French person at work on the phone, even if they are obviously talking to their sister), i asked for my diploma.

"Validation d'acquis please" she snapped efficiently, "student ID card and last year's exam results". "Validation of what?" I asked. She sighed and pursued: "the paper you signed at the begining of last year, validating your student dossier, allowing you to study here. And your ID card, and last year's exam results". Validation d'acquis? Good god. I had no memory of it, not the slightest clue where it could be, and told her so. "Oh, that's not good", she replied looking delighted. "Well you'll just have to find it".

I left, not feeling encouraged. I couldn't remember the validation d'acquis but I remebered the student dossier alright: a thick folder full of forms to be filled, levels of French to be examined, demands for references, CVs, proof of address, proof of diplomas and other formalities. Moreover, as I am British and studied in Britain for my BA, I needed to show my marks (over three years) as well as give them a full official translation of my previous courses (Economics? European studies? French? How hard are they to translate?). Finally after many weeks of photocopying, rewriting (only black biros and capital letters please), translating (fuck an official translation) and proving I was not a terrorist, they announced I was now a candidate for selection. Not actually selected, just a candidate, and all this for one of the crappiest universities in Paris. (I have heard far worse tales of changing universities within Paris, changing course or trying to go on Erasmus by the way).

Anyway, I got selected, completed my M1 and am now drawing to the end of my M2. Somewhere along the line though, the validation d'acquis had been lost. I returned one day to the office and said "look, given that I actually completed last year and have been with you for 4 months this year, thus proving that I did actually pass the M1, why do you need to see if I was allowed to join in the first place, can't you just give me my diploma?". No way, said the look I got back.

I searched everywhere for the validation d'acquis, at my place, at my parents', behind sofas, in files. Nope. Went back a third time in January and went bambi-eyes. "Oh please I need my diploma to apply for a PhD", I lied, "It's at my old house in England somewhere, look I've been here 18 months and passed your exams, surely you can trust me that I managed to get in in the first place". Nope, said the look.

Weeks passed, one day in March I went to see Mélisande at the office and told her of the problem. Her answer made me jump: "Oh, well I can give you a photocopy of it, I've got them in the cupboard". What? stupid me, it had never occured to me that this precious document had been duplicated a thousand times and was now hiding in most of the offices, in humoungous files. "We're not really supposed to give them out to students", she said... but Mélisande is cool. She found the right file, one of hundreds, found the right paper, and twenty seconds later I had a fresh photocopy of the precious validation in my hand.

I went down to the office of the dragon, found my ID card and produced all the paperwork. The woman glared at it and said OK. My heart leapt. "Only thing is", she added, "we haven't got the diplomas from the printers yet, maybe in June...".

For god's sake, running around two months for the validation when the old troll doesn't even have the bloody diploma! All these cupboards full of useless paperwork belonging to students who might not even be at the University still! And they don't even have the bloody diplomas almost a year after I theoretically obtained it! I remember that at Sussex University in Brighton, they both put on a wham-bam graduation ceremony for those who wanted it, or just sent out the diploma to the student's home address. No fuss, no hassle, no paperwork, no delays.

If all French bureaucracy is like this (and, god help us, it is), one cringes when imagining the inefficiency that results from a build up of all the paperwork and useless protocol. Entire buildings must be stocked with the files of hundreds of nobodies, each file full of useless photocopies. Each piece of paper lacking or form badly-filled in, or badly signed, or badly stamped, means more and more delay.

I mention this because my story continues in a pleasing circle. My mind was full of all of this when I eaving the metro this morning to go to Sciences po, after the sight of the aformentioned photo booth. I had with me 1200 pages of somebody's thesis, that I had borrowed from my friend and collegue Souzana and was now returning. Got to Sciences po, produced my library card at the entrance and, still holding it, went to the 'return' counter. 30 kilos of thesis were given back to the smiling assistant who beeped them through. Suddenly, simultaneously, he must have realised that I was not Souzana, owing to the fact that I was waving my library card in his face. "Did you take this out?", he asked gravely, pointing to the two volumes on the counter. "No", innocent me answered, "I'm just returning them for a friend". "So it was not taken out on your card", he confirmed. At last I twigged. "No", I replied timidly, "but you don't need a card to return things do you?". Wrong answer. Another rule. Only people who take the book out can give it back in, and never mind that the thing is in perfect condition, that you don't need to prove who you are and that it isn't late back.

Without sticking around to chat, i heaved the thesis back in to my bag and left the library. I called a friend, smoked a cigarette and went back in. Chose a different counter with a different bloke, hid my card, and plonked the thesis back down. "Thanks", said the guy beeping the books back in to the machine. "Thanks, bye", I said. And that was that.