I can't believe it. How can anyone be this stupid?

OK, you've probably guessed that I'm talking about the banker. But first, an interlude with the appliance repairman.

This is a photo of our kitchen. Note that charming addition to the sink - a garden hose. Don't you have one in your kitchen? In ours, the receiving end of the hose is connected to the dishwasher connection under the sink, and the delivering end is in the sink. Why? Because of the dishwasher that is no longer there. The dishwasher that the repairman first showed up to fix on March 5th. Yes, you saw the month right; that's March, 5 weeks ago today, I think. The latest installment on that story was that he was here again on Tuesday, and decided that he had to take the dishwasher back to the shop. He failed to notice that the tap that the dishwasher was connected to wouldn't turn off properly and thus dripped water into the cabinet under the sink. (The fault of some inept plumber? How could that be?) Anyway, the repairman said he would return the dishwasher either late that same day or on Thursday. What appeared late in the day was not the repairman, but the puddle of water in front of the sink. Needless to say, he also didn't show up yesterday, Thursday, either. But we had such fun staying home all day waiting for him. We didn't have to go shopping, we didn't have to go for a walk on a wonderful spring day, we got to sit around looking at moving boxes. So today we just decided to forget about him. We went to Espéraza, to see the banker! What fun!

When we bearded the banker in his den, who said he had not received the dossier and he could do nothing, accompanying this with that wonderful Gallic shrug. Since I was in no mood to just leave, I kept telling him what a horrible situation this was to be in, and he finally decided to call the Montpelier office, to ask why if they had sent him the dossier on Monday he had not yet received it. They of course could not take any time to talk to him and said they would call them back. We sat in his office for about 10 minutes, and then decided we could do other errands while we were in town, and he promised to call us as soon as he heard from them.

So off we went, to find the policeman in Espéraza, the person to whom our renewed Cartes de Sejour (residency permits) will be sent. We are unable to make an appointment with him, since he simply doesn't do that. You just have to wander past his office from time to time and see if he happens to be there, or wander around the streets until you run into him. This used to be easier when we lived a block away. Anyway, these permits are already three months late, but No, he had not yet received them. There is a boring regularity to the inefficiency of absolutely everything that happens in France.

OK, so we left the policeman's office, ready to head home. My phone rings! It's the banker! The Montpelier office called him back and - are you ready for this? - they had once more sent the dossier to our old address in Espéraza! They sent it again to the house we no longer live in! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! HOW STUPID CAN THEY BE!!!!! I could barely keep from standing there on the sidewalk screaming at this guy over the phone. He tells me that the rule is that they have to send it to the address on the loan application. WHY DIDN'T HE ALREADY KNOW THIS! HE'S THE BANK MANAGER FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! THIS MAN IS A MORON!

So, we trundle off home, there to find the dishwasher sitting on the terrace. By this time, I am screaming.

I'm losing the will to live.