Sunday, 11 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 94

I could not update my blog last week because of the pain in my wrist.  It is healing slowly, but the pain returns whenever I stress it.  But my mind was busy wrestling with many ideas about my identity.  Then I thought I should start but analyzing each harmonious character in my true horror stories.  Let me start with Mme. Landlord, the ruthless whipper of the weak while pretending to be their savior.  How does such a personality develop?

The clue may be in the fact that she was not a born Parisian.  Every city has a hierarchy that consists of the in-crowds that were born with the non-coded priority over those who joined the city from elsewhere.   Mme. Landlord often spoke proudly of her birthplace, but her eyes betrayed her words.  She chose not to return to her birthplace which speaks the truth.  The late joiners of the city struggle to secure their place unless blessed with a tolerable wealth or some kind of accomplishments.  Did Mme. Landlord have any of them?  A daughter from a decent family would not grow up to be a scavenger of garbage rooms.  Her sense of hygiene did not revolt against bringing a discarded mattress (run over by mouses) into her bedroom.   Then how would an ambitious woman with no advantages navigate herself in a city?  How would she climb up the social ladder?

By pretending to possess what the rich and the successful are stereotyped to be lacking it.  Empathy.  No other virtue has been more abused because you can act it while regular accomplishment requires a lot of hard work or even financial expenses.  Mme. Landlord boasted of her volunteer works, boasted of getting involved in many good causes.  It left unpleasant aftertaste that she would demand recognition or gratitude each time, unlike my acquaintances in Japan who had kept quiet about their volunteer works until I accidently found out.  However, her tactics must have worked for Mme. Landlord because despite there were some who suspected her true color (Mr. Brave wrote about it) she managed to gain respect as a moral leader who became the equal to the rich and the successful among the circle which she had insinuated herself into.  But there was one person who was not fooled.  Herself.

Not naturally empathetic nor generous, her life-long acting would naturally take its toll on her.  She vented her frustration on the weak whose voice would not be heard.  She was all smile to an aristocrat gentleman while writing slander about him in her emails to me. I have written in one of my updates about the night when I was made to move her bulky furniture.  It was not an isolated episode, of course, and one day she made me move other piece of her bulky furniture during the daytime.  She came along to give me instructions, so I would not damage her old furniture, which was not precious enough for her to pay the taxi fares for.  What was the point of having migrants around if you could not use them for free labor?

A couple of French women were chatting on the street.  I had to stop because there was no room on the narrow street of Paris.  I was about to politely ask them to let me pass when Mme. Landlord hurled some abusive comments to the women.  Even I could understand the part ‘people have lost manner to make space for others in Paris!’  The two women looked hurt more than offended and said something softly in French as they stepped aside.  I felt compelled to apologize to the French women for the rude behavior of Mme. Landlord while she walked past them triumphantly.    Where was this moral leader Mme. Landlord passed herself as?  What was to become of her?

Unexpectedly, I was to find out sooner than I thought.  To be continued.

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Tuesday, 30 October 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 93

Back in the old ages, predators were savage and physical.  Victims were slain to death.  There was no coming back from that.  But in the modern age, predators tend to shy away from physical abuses remembering the legal consequences.  Thus, came the age of victim-business.

It is quite fool proof and yet potent.  Generally, people are sucked in by the former victims’ sad tales, no matter how shamelessly elaborated, and believe them without checking the facts.  Some smart or life-wise ones would voice their suspicion, only to be struck back with the accusation of discrimination of all kinds: racist, religious persecutors, misogynist, ageism…the list goes on.  If you have some money, the victim-business will send their lawyer to milk you, over and over because it does not matter how much money you have paid already, it is the heart that counts, and you have not apologized sincere enough.  So, pay up!  One word from you complaining their elaboration of the facts, the price will hike even steeper.  It is quite lucrative, this victim-business of the modern age.  Best of all, no one can stop them, and they feel no remorse about having turned predators of a more sinister kind.  In their mind they are always right that the world should revere them.  The sense of obligation and respect for the order goes out of the window.  It is not cheating if they do it.  Hard work is for the idiots, like Japanese workers, who are forever indebted to the victim business.

It is so tempting to go down this road.  God knows, I nearly did after being exposed to ‘the sludge’ community for so long.  But Mme. Landlord showed me what is in store for the victim-business.  She manipulated me by mimicking Mr. Pride jeering at my health damaged by his restaurant from Hell.  It was such a vulgar sight that spoke a world about her true color.  And yet I attributed the vileness to Mr. Pride because my self-righteousness blocked me from seeing who she was.  I was against ageism, and she took much advantage of it.  Wasn’t I fooled when she acted out the scene where she was being bullied by Mr. Pride?  Furthermore, she thoughtfully advised me not to have a direct contact with Mr. Pride because he was a crafty man who would use my word and twist them against me.  In hindsight she robbed my chance of finding out the facts.

I am so grateful that I ran into Mr. Pride after I had left the influence of Mme. Landlord. His eyes were not as arrogant as I had been made to believe.  In the end he was a man who was  duped by Mme. Empathy, just like I was by Mme. Landlord.  In his own way, he apologized to me for my horrendous near-death experience caused by Mme. Empathy.  It took me a while to apologize to him myself for having opposed him without verifying the facts, but I needed time to be sure that Mr. Pride was not part of ‘The Sludge’ or ‘the victim-business.  And more time to find a definition of myself.  I was not going to be a victim, the word I detest now.  I must not turn a predator either.  

Then what am I to be?   To be continued.

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Sunday, 21 October 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 92


I have just edited my last post in which I had renamed a character.  In hindsight it may have caused confusion, thus I decided to bring back the old name, Mme. Landlord, to the hyena lady.  I also mentioned in the last post that she had lied to me about the personality of Mr. Pride, but smart readers would have suspected it already.

So, instead I shall report to you the latest of the restaurant from HELL.  In my last post I explained why I refrain from investing my life in revenge.  However, I still take measures to stop any further damages.  This is called ‘survival.’  Let me refresh your memory by referring you to my post number 74.  In it, I explained why my last resort was to let them win until they weaken themselves with their own toxins.

I no longer proceeded with my lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell.  I cannot reveal the facts, but Mr. Honor pulled the string in the end and my lawyer was made to feel the pressure.  In this sense, a lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell never had a chance and Mme. Landlord knew this.  Thus she did not want to spend her own money on legal procedures and schemed to use mine while pretending to be sympathetic to my suffering.  But even if she had been a nice lady as she portrayed herself to the world, I still would not have appealed because I sensed that any defeat would further empower the sludge. 

In case you have not read my posts about the young Mme. Harmonie who became the new owner of the restaurant from Hell, she was the one who demanded the residents to show understanding to the restaurant in the name of harmony while telling me to keep my windows closed if I did not want to hear their noise instead of insulating her noisy machines up to the standard.   However, I stopped calling the police as the restaurants from Hell broke the regulations and repeatedly blasted the neighborhood with a monstrous music.  Had it faced the busy street, it would have been understandable, but they terrorized this quiet off-street in the historic corner of Paris.  With nothing to stop her, Mme. Harmonie kept on and wasted her only chance to change the bad reputation she had inherited from Mme. Empathy who had washed off the restaurant from Hell on Mme. Harmonie.  The neighborhood was about to organize a petition against the restaurant, but stopped to see if the new owner would behave right.  Mme. Harmonie proved to be no better than Mme. Empathy, if not worse. 

The restaurant from hell failed to win local regular diners that even its chef quitted before his anniversary.  Of course, this was far from over for Mme. Harmonie, but I have become immune to disgust after three years in Paris.  Instead I thought it was interesting that there was these two women who shared the similar attitude but one was Mme. Harmonie from a cult and one was Mme. Landlord, an atheist.  To be continued.

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Saturday, 13 October 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 91

I could not update my blog last week as I moved back to Paris.  Yes, the gong rang and the gloves were off.  Mme. Landlord is still lurking around.  This is what it means to live in Paris.  One month of holidays to wind down and 11 months of fighting battles. 

Nevertheless, it did not worry me anymore because after Mme. Landlord received a legal letter from my lawyer demanding to check her smartphone for the records to back up her claims that she fell off from my ladder while she attempted to take a call from my insurance company on my behalf, she did not even show up to the designated meeting.  This shuttered my last hope that the insurance company may still have called her after leaving a message on my mobile.  Mme. Landlord did not even try to explain herself to my lawyer, nor did she offer to pay back the medical fees she had wrongfully received from me.  Any illusion I may still have clung to about her having some integrity was no more.  I should rename her as Mme. Harmonie, the senior.  She was always preaching about ‘living in harmony with friends and the weak’ which impressed men and the gullible like me.  The truth was that the weak had to do as she demanded and and if the weak had money they had to pay her up in gratitude.   

However, in order to avoid confusion, I shall continue to refer to the hyena as Mme. Landlord.   She thought I would meekly pay her for the flashy new water tap which would have cost me far less than a legal letter by a lawyer.  To her surprise I opted to leave a legal record of her behaviors because by then I had learnt that  she would lie through her teeth to play a victim.  Her sweet singing voice saved for gentlemen.  Sure enough she spread the slander about me and had the nerve to send me the emails she had exchanged with her friends accusing me of wrong doings.  The man who knew nothing about the sacrifice my mother had to make so that I would paint the apartment of Mme. Landlord, he advised her to act harsh with me in his email.  Did she not think that giving me his email address was a bad idea?  I duly sent him the copy of my legal letter.  Of course, Mme. Landlord would insist that it was all lie, but the legal fee in France is steep.  No one has that kind of money to spend on lies.  At least, I did not hear his advice again.

All I wanted was the big old leech to be out of my life.  I am not angry because her French friends do not fair so well either.  I remember the time when Mme. Landlord made me and a man (another gullible fan of hers) move a discarded mattress that had been laid in the garbage room for weeks, to the guest room of her apartment.  I was horrified.  ‘You are not going to let your guest sleep on it?  The rats were seen there running around!’  She was not fazed at all.  ‘A clean sheet would hide it.’  Then I knew she would lie to her French friend that she went out of her way to purchase the mattress for him.’  I did not miss anything but ceasing to be her acquaintance. 

I am not above wishing for a revenge, but I do not carry it out because moving on is far more important.  However, in this case a revenge was done without me lifting a finger.  My lawyer offered to reimburse Mme. Landlord for her old water tap in exchange of the reimbursement for my labor painting her apartment.  Of course, she would calculate that the tap costs one tenth of what my lawyer demanded, so she backed off.  But I know her greed would be in pain for months wrestling over the new tap fees she could not squeeze out from me.  Just like she was writhing nearly a year over her failure to take more money from her former tenant Jupiter.  Her agony was tangible.  His real estate agent stepped in to shield Jupiter, and my lawyer had to step in to shield me from the big leech.  Sadly, my wrist will never regain its former strength, but I must take the responsibility of having a bad judge of character.  Revenge is about shifting all the blame onto the other person, but one's stupidity is not plausible either, unless you are a still a child.  

To be continued.

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Sunday, 30 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 90

A French lawyer working as the assistant of my regular lawyer was assigned my case against Mme. Landlord.  He would naturally be bias as I was his client, but still the genuine shock on his face was enough proof that Mme. Landlord had behaved without honor according to the French standards.  My lawyer was even more disgusted because he had once spent hours calming the nerve of Mme. Landlord when the restaurant from Hell was winning.  Who paid for the expense?  Me, of course.  But I arranged it as a gift from me to Mme. Landlord because she was a dear friend of mine…at that time.  I had expected it would cost me one-hour legal fees, but Mme. Landlord took the advantage of my offer and consulted my lawyer for her own business too.  My legal tab was for 2 hours and more.  However, I was still happy when I paid for it that my French lawyer was touched by my generosity and loyalty.

However, Mme. Landlord has chosen to abuse my trust and even extract more money from me.  My French lawyer was indignant that an aged woman who was a grandmother of many grandchildren should have chosen to exploit a migrant young enough to be her daughter.  In hindsight, he was puzzled that Mme. Landlord who started with a few words about my plight by the hand of the restaurant from Hell, the two hours legal consultation soon disintegrated into how much she despised the restaurant that had depreciated the financial value of her apartments.  She was adamant about kicking Mr. Pride and his restaurant from Hell and for that she made use of my suffering…and my money.  I was once grateful that my rent was lowered for it, but my lawyer immediately suspected that Mme. Landlord would collect the difference after the restaurant was out of the building.  She has tried this method before with Jupiter.  She allured him into paying for renovating her apartment and then terminated the lease and demanded compensation for the damage.  This way she could sell her apartment, now done up in a modern style thus more sellable than before, with no expense on her at all.

My lawyer suspected Mme. Landlord would repeat her antics with me, so his legal letter to her covered many grounds.  Mme. Landlord made a mistake of having consulted her own problems with my lawyer, leaving a legal record that she had knowingly benefitted from my lawyer.  My lawyer demanded a counter compensation from on all the hours of legal fees.  My painting labor alone would have cost Mme. Landlord 5000 euros had she employed a professional.  My lawyer halved it out of good faith.  He wished to demand her for the injury on my wrist because it has affected my career and would continue to do so in future, but as I left France immediately after the injury to accompany my fragile mother back to Japan, it would be difficult to prove the liability of Mme. Landlord. 

While he was finalizing his legal letter, Mme. Landlord bombarded me with her emails demanding me to do the right thing and observe the harmony among the neighbors.  Her hypocritical words resembled that of Mme. Harmonie of the restaurant from Hell.  No wonder Mme. Landlord detested her.  They were birds of a feather.  To be continued.

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