Sunday, 5 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 47

No one should be physically looking into my window as I lived on the second floor, so I had to stifle my scream with my hand when those cold eyes looked into my room.  However, Mme. Empathy was not a ghost and I should show you where she was standing on.

I have indicated the noise of the restaurant in red.  Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy had left the dotted part of their roof uncovered (there was only a plastic shield over it from keeping the rain out) because they wanted to install a glass roof there.  However, the landlords of the buildings had rejected it at the general assembly because it would allow more noise through than regular roofing materials.  As my readers you would know by now that Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy would not respect the wishes of the others, so they lied to Mr. Honour that their idea had been resoundingly agreed upon.  Mr. Honour urged the authority to grant the permission to build in a glass roof to the protected historical building.  (My clever Mme. Landlord has obtained the record of this)

Therefore Mme. Empathy was adamant to have her glass roof and she had two accesses to her roof.  One was climbing over up her other roof and landing on her lower roof, but that was costly.  The other option was to access through my window and that is where she is standing in the picture above.  This option had an extra benefit.  Had I given them the access, Mr. Pride could have manipulate it and put it on Mrs. Landlord through me.  ‘You gave us the access through your tenant.  Therefore, you have endorsed the permission to install the glass roof on behalf of the other landlords too.’  My lawyer had warned me against this, so I repeatedly refused despite the several emails from Mr. Pride. 

He offered not a single apology for the suffering he and his tenants were causing  me.  Not once.  He repeatedly demanded that I gave him the access.  He even threatened me with a lie that ‘it was how things are done in France of which you are ignorant of.’  Now, I would not expect empathy from this money obsessed man who was not exactly a French himself either, but I had expected him to have some logic.  Why would I agree to something that would make my dire situation worse?  I could see that his wealth had been made by his sensible father, not by him.


Mme. Empathy was being pressed by this Major from the police department, who had a justice bone in him, to seal the large gap on her roof to mitigate my suffering.  She was not going to yield, not Mme. Empathy.  So she created a third option.  To be continued.

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