The tax office sent me an email saying they had queries about my tax return. In France everyone has to file a tax return every year even employees, although they are making moves to change that. Anyway I went to the tax office wondering what I could have done wrong, especially as my income is very straightforward.
I showed the email to the receptionist, who instead of giving me a number to join the queue, sent me upstairs where I joined one other person. Eventually it was my turn to enter the inner sanctum of the tax office but when I explained that I had been called in to answer queries, the woman stood up and said I have to see the manager, and she left the room. I waited 10 minutes before the manager walked in and I explained who I was. She went to find my tax return and came back holding a red pen. She then proceeded to cross out all my entries, telling me off as she went. This is on the wrong line, this has an incorrect code. Nothing escaped her red pen. So all the codes have changed this year, I said. 'Madame Darby, the codes changed last year but we excused you, we do not excuse 2 years in a row.'
I apologised profusely and slunk out like a naughty schoolgirl. As I left the building I spotted a notice on the main door. Thank goodness I speak French, I thought. The notice was in English and read, 'If you don't speak French we can't help you.' Merciless.
I showed the email to the receptionist, who instead of giving me a number to join the queue, sent me upstairs where I joined one other person. Eventually it was my turn to enter the inner sanctum of the tax office but when I explained that I had been called in to answer queries, the woman stood up and said I have to see the manager, and she left the room. I waited 10 minutes before the manager walked in and I explained who I was. She went to find my tax return and came back holding a red pen. She then proceeded to cross out all my entries, telling me off as she went. This is on the wrong line, this has an incorrect code. Nothing escaped her red pen. So all the codes have changed this year, I said. 'Madame Darby, the codes changed last year but we excused you, we do not excuse 2 years in a row.'
I apologised profusely and slunk out like a naughty schoolgirl. As I left the building I spotted a notice on the main door. Thank goodness I speak French, I thought. The notice was in English and read, 'If you don't speak French we can't help you.' Merciless.
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