Nice: the most disastrous vacation ever comes back to haunt me one last time
So not long ago I received une convocation to go to the Angers police station. There were no details, it just said I had a rendez-vous on a certain day and that I had better show up.
Since my residence card expired on November 14th, images flitted through my head of them arresting me and throwing me on the first plane out of France. But I knew it was more likely that it had something to do with the girl who stole my purse this summer (we caught her and she got arrested). But when I called the police station to ask what it was all about, the lady told me just that it had something to do with a stolen cell phone in Nice. I did indeed have my cell phone stolen when I went to Nice in March 2005, but I was shocked that the police had gotten word of it since I never reported it stolen. I had figured it would be pointless to do so, and I barely spoke French at the time so I just didn't bother with it.
Yeah, turns out that was a mistake.
When I showed up for my rendez-vous, I was kind of surprised at how coldly they were treating me. After all, they were the ones who had asked me to come. Why were they acting like I was the criminal?
The lady at the desk told me to go to office 140. I went, and there was an investigator type waiting for me in his office. I sat down and he started firing questions at me.
When did I get to France? Um, February 2005.
When did I go to Nice? March 2005.
Why? To meet a lady who needed an au pair.
Had I been back since? No...
Who was I with? Weston.
Where is Weston? He went back to the States.
What race is he? Sorry?
Is he white? Yeah...
What did he look like? Uh, brown hair..
You said he was white, right? Yeah.
As in, caucasian? Right.
I was very bewildered at this point, and the man kept avoiding explaining why he was interrogating me like this, but I finally figured out why I was there.
The French police thought *I* had stolen a cell phone while I was in Nice.
Me: "Wait a minute, so *I'm* the one who stole a cell phone?"
Him: "Oh, did you steal a cell phone?"
Me: "What? I mean, no. Of course not. Someone stole MY cell phone."
Him: "Well, we found your SIM card in a stolen cell phone. We've been looking for you for over a year."
Me: ...
The address they had on file for me was Weston's, which I had used only once: when I bought the phone when I first got to Paris over a year and a half ago. Apparently the Nice police had sent the dossier to Paris, who had sent it back to Angers, a process that took over a year. Great detective work, French cops! You could have just googled me, it would have saved you a lot of time.
Anyway, after I had explained myself to his satisfaction, he made me sign my statement and sent me on my way without the slightest thank you or apology for having scared the wits out of me. And apparently the matter is settled.
So yes, that is what we call a big misunderstanding, and a big waste of time on the part of la Police Française. Better luck next time Frenchies!
Since my residence card expired on November 14th, images flitted through my head of them arresting me and throwing me on the first plane out of France. But I knew it was more likely that it had something to do with the girl who stole my purse this summer (we caught her and she got arrested). But when I called the police station to ask what it was all about, the lady told me just that it had something to do with a stolen cell phone in Nice. I did indeed have my cell phone stolen when I went to Nice in March 2005, but I was shocked that the police had gotten word of it since I never reported it stolen. I had figured it would be pointless to do so, and I barely spoke French at the time so I just didn't bother with it.
Yeah, turns out that was a mistake.
When I showed up for my rendez-vous, I was kind of surprised at how coldly they were treating me. After all, they were the ones who had asked me to come. Why were they acting like I was the criminal?
The lady at the desk told me to go to office 140. I went, and there was an investigator type waiting for me in his office. I sat down and he started firing questions at me.
When did I get to France? Um, February 2005.
When did I go to Nice? March 2005.
Why? To meet a lady who needed an au pair.
Had I been back since? No...
Who was I with? Weston.
Where is Weston? He went back to the States.
What race is he? Sorry?
Is he white? Yeah...
What did he look like? Uh, brown hair..
You said he was white, right? Yeah.
As in, caucasian? Right.
I was very bewildered at this point, and the man kept avoiding explaining why he was interrogating me like this, but I finally figured out why I was there.
The French police thought *I* had stolen a cell phone while I was in Nice.
Me: "Wait a minute, so *I'm* the one who stole a cell phone?"
Him: "Oh, did you steal a cell phone?"
Me: "What? I mean, no. Of course not. Someone stole MY cell phone."
Him: "Well, we found your SIM card in a stolen cell phone. We've been looking for you for over a year."
Me: ...
The address they had on file for me was Weston's, which I had used only once: when I bought the phone when I first got to Paris over a year and a half ago. Apparently the Nice police had sent the dossier to Paris, who had sent it back to Angers, a process that took over a year. Great detective work, French cops! You could have just googled me, it would have saved you a lot of time.
Anyway, after I had explained myself to his satisfaction, he made me sign my statement and sent me on my way without the slightest thank you or apology for having scared the wits out of me. And apparently the matter is settled.
So yes, that is what we call a big misunderstanding, and a big waste of time on the part of la Police Française. Better luck next time Frenchies!