True horror in Modern Paris-the restaurant from Hell Part 12

My complete profile, if it was ever disclosed, would reveal all sorts of minority groups, starting with my gender and race.  I have been harassed on many levels throughout my life, 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 it on this blog.  I quote many others before me that ‘True horror is hidden within man’.

EPISODE 12

I tumbled out of my apartment down to the ground floor.  I could see Mme. HEART, glamorously dressed up, flirting away with guests, not shedding a thought to the hell she had subjected me to.  In fact, I did not even exist in her mind judging from her jubilant face.   She motioned her staff to play loud music as if it was a disco in the middle of a residential area.   I ran out of the building. 

The beautiful city of Paris suddenly looked ominous.  The river Seine at night looked rebuffing.  You might advise me to move out of the hell apartment, but I had just signed a three-year contract with Patrick and his bank.  Cancellation fees would be exorbitant.  Also, my dream depended on obtaining Carte de Residence, and for that, I needed a fixed address.  And yet my apartment was rendered inhabitable.  I was so distressed and shaking that I couldn’t even cry. 

 There was no hopeful path in front of me.  Then…I must turn around, go back to the damaged apartment, and fight.  Mr PRIDE and Mme. HEART had all the advantages.  They spoke French, knew the system, had money and some connection in the high place.  It was a losing battle, but what other options I had?  The slight advantage I had was that they thought of me as an utter fool.  They are so used to winning they would probably lack patience, while I had an abundance of it as a Japanese woman. 

Mme. HEART had invited all the residents in the building for her opening party.  Of course, I was not in the mood, but it would allow me to check out her kitchen.  I opened the door to my apartment and again felt the onslaught of hellish noise.  I gritted my teeth and somehow managed to change into a presentable dress.  ‘Bite the bullet’, I told myself.  This has been my mantra since my high school years in an American school where I studied English.  I went downstairs to face Mme. HEART. 

Mirror that reflects your soul
She looked genuinely surprised when I congratulated her on opening her new restaurant.  The ridiculously polite Japanese in me had forced me to do so.  Her manipulative smile was so perfect that I too may have fallen for it had I not been exposed to her hellish noise.  She tilted her head down to one side and muttered how Mme. HARMONY was making her life difficult.  Any man would feel protective of her.  Even women would fall for such an act.  I, on the other hand, had to fight the urge to call her a liar, but Mme. HEART took me for a fool, assumed I was not worth manipulating, and she left me alone to look around.  

The finger food was laid near the kitchen, and there it was, the commercial ventilator roaring aloud, shaking my apartment above.  Its mammoth size was disturbing but what froze me was the way it was installed.  It did not have a hood like in other restaurants.  The roaring turbo was attached directly to the ceiling aka my floor when other restaurant owners with a conscience would hang the ventilator with a couple of metal poles out of consideration to the residents above.  

You might think that her architect would have installed the ventilator properly, but the fees of employing an architect are so expensive in Paris that Mme. HEART had opted for cheaper interior designers who are not responsible for the infrastructure by law.  Their job is to make the place look gorgeous, and if someone gets electrocuted and dies as the result of a wrong configuration, the interior designers will not be held liable in France.  Or so I was informed by an architect whom I would meet later. 

With a heavy heart, I returned to my apartment which was like inside the airplane engine.  The hellish noise and vibration would torture me every day and night from now on.  It was the beginning of my long dark period in Paris.   As I rewrite this blog, I now know that Mr PRIDE had violated much more than I could see back then.  And yet it was up to me to discover and prove his lewd acts to the authority.  Only then the authority might pay attention.