True horrors stories in the shadow of Paris Part 22

My full profile, if it was ever disclosed, would reveal all sorts of minority groups starting with my gender and race. Throughout my life, I have been harassed on many levels, but I lacked the stomach and power to carry out revenge.  This was a blessing in disguise because retribution eventually manifested itself which inspired me to share on this blog.  I quote many others before me that ‘True horror is hidden within man’.


Mr. PRIDE could not believe that he, the chosen one to reign over others was demanded to spend his dear money on this bug from Asia.  This was the impression my lawyer later came away with after talking to him.  Mr. PRIDE told my lawyer that he was not going to spend a cent more unnecessary on me.  Well…generosity did not get him where he was, the big gun on the social pyramid, the former immigrants with money power. 

Mme. HEART was no better.  She hated abiding by the rules.  It is tiresome and stupid.  There is a record of her summon to the court following a big petition signed by her former neighbors whose lives had been wrecked by the irresponsible management of her last restaurant.  But it did not hurt her one bit because in Paris you can always sell the restaurant permit and make a huge profit. She would just find another sucker and wash her hands off and let the sucker deal with that Asian bug who dared to get in her way.

Mme. HEART opted to delay tactics again and I started looking for a hotel to escape.  I needed a break because one of my eyes was twitching and I had lost the sense of the tip of my tongue.  However, my budget was limited and hotels in Paris were expensive as always.  My lawyer suggested that I ring the police, a different jurisdiction from the one where Officer/Inspector Raphael was stationed, after 22:30 to report the breach of the regulations by Mme. HEART. 

Restaurants in Paris must not make noise after 22:30 unless you have applied and paid for the expensive ‘service continue’ non-stop license.  This license requires that the restaurant either buy or rent the space above their venues so as not to disturb the neighbors on the upper floors.  Needless to say, Mme. HEART nor Mr. SINCERE had paid for such expenses and they simply chose to cheat, play music and use the ventilator until after midnight every night.

My lawyer could not call the police for me because the caller needs to be in the vicinity of the offending restaurant.  I had to speak French because the French police would not normally accept English.  After all, they were protectors of the French residents, and they were so busy.  I dialed the number nervously and my first attempt was a failure.  The police took me for tourist and said Paris is a noisy place and it is not an offense to be loud.  I practiced my French lines more and tried again.  I was nearly cut off but I quickly said the residents of Paris could seek help from the police.  I even mentioned Officer Raphael’s inspection.  The tone at the other end of the phone turned serious and took my phone number, verified that I lived near the restaurant from Hell, and policemen were dispatched. 

Having achieved this tiny success, I slumped down on the floor that was rocked by the noise from below.  I waited and after 30 minutes, the noise stopped.  Totally stopped.  The police had done their job!  Why didn’t I do this sooner?  Oh, that’s right, my French had been bad.  If there was a silver line to my ordeal, it was that my necessity to read and listen to French intensely sped up my learning process.  The bliss of silence led me to sleep.  I called the police three nights in a row because my lawyer advised me that the police would eventually penalize the restaurant by suspending it for a week. 

Mirror that reflects your soul

On the fourth day, the chef visited me to my surprise.  He wanted to see my place so the noise problem could be fixed.  His request was logical, so I let him in.  He examined the area above their ventilator, my window, and spotted my cardboard bed in my kitchen.  He shook his head in a fake sympathy as he examined the appliances in my kitchen.  I did not think much of it then because he had said that Mme. HEART was distressed that I had contacted the police.  What?  Now, she was the victim?  This compromised my concentration.  

The following day I heard a drilling noise from the kitchen below.  It sounded eerie for some reason, but I told myself that they might be fixing the problem.  Did they have any other choice?  The kitchen closed early that night to my delight, but I could not move my cardboard bed out of my kitchen because of their refrigerators and freezers that became loud after midnight.  Still, I was rather happy and fell asleep.

It was about 02:00 am.  I woke up because my heart was in acute pain from beating fast.   I heard a buzzing beam and realized that all the electric appliances in my studio were reacting to something.  Strong nausea came over me as my mobile phone emitted buzzing noise as if it was electrified.  Yes, some kind of electricity was leaking into my kitchen!  I felt a stinging sensation all over my face and skin, followed by a throbbing headache.  I tried to escape but my entire studio was flooded with something that everywhere I touched I felt the stinging electricity.  My body would not move well from fever, but I knew if I did not get out of the apartment right away I may not live to see another day.