A short interaction with officaldom
Sat in a small windowless room, the epitome of bureaucratic office space, we were discussing our need to obtain personal tax reference numbers.
I know, I know, bear with me.
We’d booked an appointment the week before at our local, and very helpful, France Services and it was judgement day.
All possible paperwork we may need clasped in a folder - birth certificates, marriage certificate, passports, all of our business setup papers, carte vitales, permis de conduire - ready to go.
We introduced ourselves to the fonctionnaire des finances publiques (the tax woman), described our status and purpose in life, and hoped for the best.
She surveyed us with an expression undoubtedly used on all that darken her door, under the assumption that they are, at best, disorganised enough to be late paying their taxes.
Unfortunately, after some preliminary electronic form filling, it turns out we were those people.
A bill we were expecting had already been sent, it transpires, in June.
Just because it was sent did not mean it arrived, however. Produced automatically it was, after consulting the e-copy on the screen, only addressed to our names, not even a hint of where we live. No town, no post code, no lieu dit. Just our names.
On the plus side this meant we did already have personal tax numbers.
I sensed the glacial ambivalence of the doyenne of the impots soften somewhat at this development; we weren’t recalcitrant tax dodgers, merely a victim of malfunctioning processes.
“You can pay it now”, we’re informed.
Hmmm. Perhaps the thawing was going to take a little while longer.
After some small talk about how we could pay it and when, it swiftly became clear that pouvoir in this instance was just a disguise for devoir.
No matter that our taxe foncière bill was well over €2,000; we were expected to just fork it over tout de suite.
Some quick checks of the bank app on the phone and suddenly our net worth had decreased somewhat more rapidly than expected.
This transaction had the effect of an instantaneous change in the local climate; icy looks became almost, but not quite, friendly; her duty was done, and our duty was very much paid.
Irrespective of our no-fault late payment, it was, she brightly shared, still a late payment, and as such could attract une amende.
With a mounting sense of unfairness we gathered our papers.
We asked what we should do if the worst happened, admittedly in hope rather than expectation.
Then, the full thaw was complete. We were instructed that if such a fine was received we should make another appointment; she would sort it all out.
We left and wished her next victim bonne courage as she sat in the waiting room, but also with a small amount of morale-boosting progress in the never-ending battle against la paperasse.
Don’t we all just LOVE the tax man!!
You could certainly have done without that.