Sunday, 23 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 89

I wrote in my last post the reason why I have been irregular in updating my blog.  My wrist has had up days and down days when it simply hurt too much to type.  Today has been one of those latter days.  I apologize in advance if I fail my readers again.

With my left hand only I emailed to Mme. Landlord to apologize for having broken her tap.  I offered to replace it as soon as I return from Japan.  ‘…right now, I need to catch a plane to accompany my mother because she is too fragile to travel alone.’…Yes, that cruel Mme. Landlord had made me work till the morning of my mother’s departure from France.  Mme. Landlord did not even give my mother a chance to drive around Paris briefly for the last time.  To her, migrants were hers to own and benefit from.

I managed by tipping whoever willing to carry our luggage because my wrist had lost its mobility.  Once on the plane, my mother started to cry and blamed her for my injury.  It did not make sense to me, but she revealed that she was never ill during her stay in Paris.  She only pretended to be ill so that I would leave her to fulfill my promise I made to Mme. Landlord about painting her apartment.  She sized up Mme. Landlord immediately that she was a dark character who would spread slander about me if she did not get what she wanted.  My mother was worried that her slander may ruin my chance of befriending other decent neighbors, so she chose to sacrifice her last chance to see Europe and stayed alone in my room for a full week.  Little did she imagine that Mme. Landlord would be so avaricious that she would abuse me to the point my wrist would snap in the cold chilly apartment where she refused to turn on her heaters for me. 

Soon both my mother and I were crying in the plane bound for Japan.  I regret that my desire to befriend a French, my desire to become a grateful migrant has sacrificed my mother’s happiness.  I had sort of suspected that Mme. Landlord’s kind words were not without agenda, but my principles disciplined me to repay her fake kindness all the same.  How naïve of me to have hoped that she would be touched by my sincerity.  I should distance myself from Mme. Landlord after this hard lesson.

It was not over.  When I returned to my mother’s home and turned on my computer, a message was waiting for me.  It was from Mme. Landlord sending me a bill for a new tap, more expensive than her old one, and the installation fee.  I explained my wrist and how my mother sacrificed her dream holidays for Mme. Landlord.  Surely, she could wait till I return in a month?  I was still naive.  The cruel woman ignored my mother’s distress and simply warned me that if I did not pay immediately, I would be paying interest. 

The hyena was after my money shamelessly, just like she pursued Jupiter, the sensitive gay tenant for his money.  Very well, I would pay.  Not for her, but for fighting her.  I placed an international call to my lawyer in Paris.  
To be continued.
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