In which Rebekah deals with French bureaucracy

One of the important pieces of documentation that we need to have during our stay in France is a Carte de Séjour (residence permit), and obtaining one is somewhat of a hassle. We began the process at the end of July, heading over to the sous-prefecture with all of our paperwork, only to be told to return in 2 weeks. We did so, and after sitting in the waiting room for a couple of hours, we were called back, and presented all of our paperwork (birth certificates, marriage license, passports, employment contract, proof of residency, etc) and were given receipts which indicated to anyone who was interested that we had in fact begun the process of applying for our permits. We were also told that we needed medical exams, and that we would be receiving a letter in the mail telling us when and where to show up. In the unlikely event that letter failed to show up, we were given a small slip of paper with a phone number on it.

Of course you know where this is leading. It's now the beginning of October, and we have not yet gotten this letter in the mail. Our receipts expire in just under a month at this point, and we're beginning to be a bit worried. So, yesterday I decided that although I can think of many things I'd rather do (scrubbing toilets and cleaning up vomit come to mind), it was necessary that I try to contact the medical people. The following ensued:

9:30 -- I call the number on the paper, let the phone ring for 5 minutes, and hang up.
10:30 -- I call again. After 25 rings, someone picks up. I explain that we need medical examinations for our carte de séjour, spell my name for him, etc. He tells me that I need to talk to someone else, and forwards the call. It rings at the new number for several minutes, then cuts off.
11:45 -- I repeat the phone call, but no-one answers.
1:30 -- I call back, and get the same guy as before. This time he gives me the phone number he's transferring me to before he completes the transfer, and I dutifully write it down. After several rings, a woman answers, and asks for all of my information. At some point she decides getting it from me is too frustrating, and tells me to call back when I have a clue.
3:00 -- I decide I have a clue. I call back, and manage to get somewhere with her. Unfortunately, somewhere is that I'm still talking to the wrong person, and that I should call a different number tomorrow (now today) at 11:00.

So, I'm currently biding my time until 11, when I will be able to call the 3rd number in my attempt to deal with the medical exam. With any luck, the person I talk to will speak English, but I'm afraid based on past experience the chances of that are extremely slim. In any case, I'm hoping that this will be the last person that I need to talk to. Otherwise tomorrow's blog post may be a list of all the useless phone calls I made today!