True Horror is this pathological liar in Paris Part 13

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 on this blog.  I quote many others before me that ‘True horror is hidden within man’.

EPISODE 13

As the hour passed, at one a.m, the drunks were still laughing away with Mme. HEART, but I was relieved to find that the chef was outside smoking so at least there would be no more cooking, no more ventilator noise.  This chef was an Asian which was considered trendy in Paris in those days.  He did not know yet that Mme. HEART would later reveal her racism and threw him out after stealing his French-Asian fusion recipe.  A woman who tramps down her neighbors would have no scruples mistreating her employees.  

Likewise, she would not be sincere with her clients either.  I saw boxes of powdered potato stuck up in the kitchen, but on the door was the sign ‘Cuisine Marché’ meaning ingredients fresh from the market.  Sadly, this was not the only restaurant in the tourist area of Paris that deceived clients as I have learned over the years.  I will reveal in this blog what you can look out for so that you can dine at decent eateries.  It is not just about avoiding rip-off prices.  I have seen chefs cooking without wearing a mask at the back of the restaurant during the Covid 19 pandemic and you would not want to expose your children to such a risk. 

Back to the first night of my misery in Paris.  I went back to my apartment expecting it to be quieter, but even after the cooking had finished I could still hear the staff’s every movement, every shelf, and indoor door slam shut as if they had been in my room.  Mme. HEART and Mr. PRIDE had not insulated their ceiling AT ALL and yet they were granted approval by BASU for the facilities in their restaurant.  In Paris, you need two types of permits, one from the Council and one from BASU, but our clever duo managed to cheat them both. 

I desperately waited until everyone had left the restaurant.  It became quiet for a while.  However, to my dismay, their dishwasher was set in motion.  There were other mechanical noises too.  Even in France, the electricity rate was cheaper after midnight.  Of course, Mme. HEART would take advantage of this.  I was left behind as the only one exposed to their electric appliances all through the night.  Insomnia was to damage my health which I badly needed to fight the two devils.  

After the sleepless night, I opened my door to Mme. HARMONY.  Her tenants must have complained to her as well.  She saw my distress but was too honest to offer me unrealistic consolation.  In silence, one old lady with one Asian woman headed to the restaurant.  Power was not on our side.   

Mirror that reflects your soul
After the successful opening party last night Mme. HEART stood there glowing.  However when Mme. HARMONY and I entered the restaurant Mme. HEART looked at us as if we were vermin.   Mme. HARMONY started the conversation politely but was rudely interrupted.  Mme. HEART glared at me and spoke to me in English to my surprise.  She insisted that I did not hear anything.  If I did then it was me being oversensitive.  I had sort of anticipated this but did not anticipate her reaction when I begged Mme. HEART to refrain at least from using the dishwasher after midnight.  

She looked me straight in my eyes and said, ‘we have no dishwasher.’  I could see one in the kitchen and pointed at it.  ‘Oh, that is not it’.  Without even once flickering in the eye.  I realized that I was dealing with a pathological liar, bordering on a criminal as I later found out later.  I understood why her previous neighbors had to file lawsuits against her because the system and the professionals were the only ones who could catch this woman.  But lawyers were not cheap, especially in Paris.  Would it not be better to pay the penalty and walk away from the contract? 

Then I observed Mme. HARMONY as we walked out of the restaurant.  She was looking fragile every day because of her age.  She was a good French lady, very sympathetic to immigrants.  She had been a teacher and spoke fondly of her former Japanese students as being sincere and loyal.  What would it make me if I abandoned her after all the compassion she had shown me?  Another ungrateful immigrant, of course, and I refused to go down that path.  We Japanese may be many things, but ungrateful is not one of them.  The right thing to do would be to stay above the restaurant from Hell and fight with Mme. HARMONY, or so I thought at the time.