Even though my rendez-vous was scheduled for 14h00 the next afternoon, I informed my professor that I might be late for her 16h00 class. It would be the third after two unsuccessful attempts with the prefecture de police. I hoped it was the last. She voiced her doubts.

The line outside the offices for visa renewals was packed with foreign students but the only audible voices came from the desk at the front where students with insufficient paperwork fought desperately to avoid that inconvenient paper marked with a future appointment and the missing documents while the lucky few hurriedly passed into the next room. Momentarily horrified, I noticed the same terse man who had scrutinized my documents two weeks ago. I crossed my fingers for one of the others. As the line in front of me thinned, I realized the only other employee at the desk was the stalwart woman whose disinterest could have brought even Giselle to tears. With a surrendering sigh, I relaxed my entwind fingers.

Although I dont think he approved of the cluttered state of my portfolio and the hesitation that inhibited my every move, he let me pass. When 32 hopeful foreigners later my number was called, I found myself sitting before one of those rare government employees who knew how to smile.
…et voila. It will function just like your other carte de sejour.
This one is bigger.
Well désolé, eh? [accompanying chuckle]