Entering into the world of French administration is kind of like slipping into Alice's rabbit hole. You begin somewhat curious and suddenly, without warning, the incredible fall begins. All sense of logic and orientation is lost and you find yourself facing a fair number of mad hatter paper-pushes and cheshire cat secretaries along the way.
Silly me for thinking that, having been accepted into a Master's/PhD funding school meant that I'd just have the next three years ahead of me for research. After completing my Master's, I had to prepare application files for my funding school, my doctoral school, the university scolarity office, the institute of doctoral training, the university office of foreign students, the doctoral contract office, the police sub-prefecture, and the local office for work and employment. I still have not managed to get my doctoral contract signed. My Pasteur Master's lab intern status expired today, so I have lost access to my own desk and lab. While waiting for my contract, my monthly stipend has been frozen.
Things took so long that my carte de séjour (permit to live in France) expired before I could prove that I would still be a student, so I got my first renewal application rejected. On the very day that my renewal application was finally accepted, I discovered a little catch: If you are doing a PhD in science, forget that you just paid your university enrollment fees and got your new student id. As far as the government is concerned, as a science PhD student you are NOT a student but a "scientifique." That's intuitive. So now I'm not even allowed to have my doctoral contract without extra special government authorization.
And things were not simple before the monster of Master's to PhD transition reared its ugly head.
-I still have not finished my summer research project. We've had some big problems with the DNA we received from one of our collaboraters...
-The staircase to my room has been supported by the handle of a broomstick since mid-July while my landlord's insurance and my renter's insurance duke it out. After a tile cracked in the kitchen, it was determined that I must retile my entire kitchen. I can't leave this housing situation without resolving these issues because I share my contract with my housemates, so I must first find someone insane enough to replace me. If I did just walk away, my landlord could resort to chasing my co-signer who, of all people, happens to be the only employed French citizen I could find: my lab head's girlfriend... .
-The organization of young MIT alumni in Paris, which I direct with a friend, has begun connecting with the MIT Club de France and more local alums, which involves more rendez-vous's and sweet talking than you'd imagine. Who'd have thought monthly pub nights might be so politically charged?
-The French just won't stop striking because their President wants to raise the age of retirement. They wave banners declaring themselves to be "prisonniers du boulot" : prisoners of work. If only I were allowed to work in their country! (And it can't go without mentioning, these poor French prisoners have 35 hour work weeks, contracts which make it nearly impossible to ever be fired, and five week mandatory minimum annual vacation.)
I'm not quite sure when things will look a bit more right-side up, but I'm hoping that soon I'll be back on my feet even if my wonderland full of baguettes, frightening customer service (the concept hasn't hit this country yet), and shockingly affordable gourmet pastries on every block.
Silly me for thinking that, having been accepted into a Master's/PhD funding school meant that I'd just have the next three years ahead of me for research. After completing my Master's, I had to prepare application files for my funding school, my doctoral school, the university scolarity office, the institute of doctoral training, the university office of foreign students, the doctoral contract office, the police sub-prefecture, and the local office for work and employment. I still have not managed to get my doctoral contract signed. My Pasteur Master's lab intern status expired today, so I have lost access to my own desk and lab. While waiting for my contract, my monthly stipend has been frozen.
Things took so long that my carte de séjour (permit to live in France) expired before I could prove that I would still be a student, so I got my first renewal application rejected. On the very day that my renewal application was finally accepted, I discovered a little catch: If you are doing a PhD in science, forget that you just paid your university enrollment fees and got your new student id. As far as the government is concerned, as a science PhD student you are NOT a student but a "scientifique." That's intuitive. So now I'm not even allowed to have my doctoral contract without extra special government authorization.
And things were not simple before the monster of Master's to PhD transition reared its ugly head.
-I still have not finished my summer research project. We've had some big problems with the DNA we received from one of our collaboraters...
-The staircase to my room has been supported by the handle of a broomstick since mid-July while my landlord's insurance and my renter's insurance duke it out. After a tile cracked in the kitchen, it was determined that I must retile my entire kitchen. I can't leave this housing situation without resolving these issues because I share my contract with my housemates, so I must first find someone insane enough to replace me. If I did just walk away, my landlord could resort to chasing my co-signer who, of all people, happens to be the only employed French citizen I could find: my lab head's girlfriend... .
-The organization of young MIT alumni in Paris, which I direct with a friend, has begun connecting with the MIT Club de France and more local alums, which involves more rendez-vous's and sweet talking than you'd imagine. Who'd have thought monthly pub nights might be so politically charged?
-The French just won't stop striking because their President wants to raise the age of retirement. They wave banners declaring themselves to be "prisonniers du boulot" : prisoners of work. If only I were allowed to work in their country! (And it can't go without mentioning, these poor French prisoners have 35 hour work weeks, contracts which make it nearly impossible to ever be fired, and five week mandatory minimum annual vacation.)
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| French strikes over a potential increase in the government-determined age of retirement. The French complain of being "prisonniers du boulot" : prisoners of their work. |
I'm not quite sure when things will look a bit more right-side up, but I'm hoping that soon I'll be back on my feet even if my wonderland full of baguettes, frightening customer service (the concept hasn't hit this country yet), and shockingly affordable gourmet pastries on every block.
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