Misogynous men-The true horror stories in the modern Paris Part 19

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’.


‘Let’s have a party to end all parties!’, said Mme. HEART.  She was naturally concerned that her restaurant from Hell was not busy, but not for the right reasons.  She never cared about running a legitimate restaurant pleasing the clients with honest food and good service.  Her purpose was profit and Paris offered a shortcut.  The gourmet capital is the temple for those who aspire to join Michelin stars.  Just being mentioned in the bible of gourmet is worth dedicating your life to.  However, you can make a quick profit by setting up a restaurant on a shoestring budget, turning it around, and selling it to another restaurateur at an expensive Paris price.  The difference will be the profit.  My lawyer searched and verified that Mme. HEART had amassed wealth by repeating this practice. 

She did not want to pay a proper salary to her staff, thus her team consisted of immigrants whose visa status was questionable.  They could not complain if there was mistreatment by Mme. HEART and the staff members changed like a yoyo.  Some infuriated ones complained even to me on their way out.  Her chef was an Asian and his pay must have been cheap enough for Mme. HEART to overwork him till late every night.  There were not many diners, but he still had to stand by while Mme. HEART would leave early for home herself.  Did she pay him the overwork fee?  I doubt it because he was not seen after three months.  The readers may feel sorry for this Asian chef.  I would too, had it not been for his misogyny. 

The readers may remember the day when I visited Mme. HEART to plead her to consider my plight.  I was accompanied by Mme. HARMONY and seeing she was a French landlord, the Asian chef was polite to her.  However, when he turned to me, his tone of voice became rude.  He dismissively told me that the kitchen noise could not be helped.  He saw nothing wrong with the ventilator, which was the first clue he had no experience working for a proper restaurant because if he had, he would have known that Mme. HEART had installed her ventilator without a hood.  I googled his name and only an unknown takeaway stand came up.  The Asian chef was immensely proud of his position as the main chef of a restaurant in the center of Paris and he was not going to let an Asian woman dictate him in any way.  The status of women is low in Asia that I had spent most of my life away from Asia because of this. 

I still had to endure a month in my apartment because I had to record all the noise (the hours and the level) of the restaurant from Hell and my lawyer needed time to prepare documents for the lawsuit.  The Asian chef actually increased the noise in the kitchen, leaving the ventilator on even when he was not cooking.  He was seen smoking in the courtyard.  He left the back door so that the kitchen noise would gush out, and then into my apartment.  My nerve system was weakened so much that even church bells felt like punches between my lungs.  In fact, any noise could jerk my body.  Many times I had to grit my teeth to prevent myself from vomiting. Every time the ventilator of the restaurant stopped I would drop down on the floor like a puppet whose string got snapped.   

Mirror that reflects your soul

It was finally two days away from the two months expiry date.  I had submitted my report to my lawyer, but by this time all the muscles around my neck and my shoulder had become stiff as rock.  I could not take any more bashing…but then it happened, the first blast of music and disco beats that rippled through the walls of the old medieval buildings.  It used up so much electricity that the light on the stair hall went out and one of my PowerPoints was burnt.  Earplugs, earmuffs, nothing helped.  I crawled to the corner of the kitchen, but the beats kept attacking me.  I could hear the guests downstairs cheer repeatedly not knowing of my predicament. It went on until 03:00 am or longer I would not know because I passed out.    

I woke up the next morning.  With a heavy foggy head, I staggered out of my apartment.  I saw a young French woman who spoke English. 

‘Last night was horrible, no?  I went down to complain to them, but they would not stop.’

I asked her to whom did she speak to, and wouldn't you know it?   ‘He was an Asian man.’  So, please do not judge me when I did not feel any sympathy towards him when he was later seen thrown out of the restaurant.  Mme. HEART stole the credit of his Asian-French menu and gave it to her new chef.  However, she didn’t gain much because one day two French men passed by the restaurant.  ‘Look, they serve Japanese-style food, but I hear it tastes fake.’ 

Parisians can’t be fooled.  Insolence in their voice sounded cool to me.