The world is attracted to Paris, the city of light, but if you stay to live the shadow beneath her reveals itself to you eventually…at least it has to me. Through my daily struggle in Paris, I began to realize what possessed me to title this blog as ‘the third red apple.’ An initial hint is in the pages available in English and French, but little did I know that it was just a beginning.
Saturday, 7 October 2017
The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 43
There was an electricity bill placed on the
table between Mme. Empathy and a man, her patron. The bill was of course was not in her
name. Would she ever pay anything
herself? Her Patron was worried if she
was making profit to justify all her expenses.
Mme. Empathy turned on her radiant smile, ‘Party season has arrived.’
Did she tell her patron that she had her
ventilator running all day at the maximum noise level to blow out ‘that Japanese
bug living upstairs’ from the building?
Whatever. It did the restaurant
no good as the chef and staffs were seen hanging around outside the restaurant
to escape the noise and heat themselves.
Not a sign of a good restaurant and it drove away potential
clients. A good new restaurant would
take off after a month in Paris where elegant gourmets are forever in search of
new gastronomical delights. It was
clearly not happening for Mme. Empathy’s restaurant.
She suddenly noticed a small figure in the
street. Mme. Empathy saw me coming back
from Vienna and raised one eyebrow visible to a woman chef nearby. ‘Is that the neighour taking you to the
court? She does not seem such a strong
woman.’ Mme. Empathy span around and spat
out. ‘It’s her old landlord who’s putting
her up to it. That Japanese woman is
just stupid!’ I remember her look darted
at me across the street, but I was not offended knowing she thought everyone
stupid. Besides, everyone did fall for
her lies and little schemes, even Mr. Honour, the protector of integrity. Mme. Empathy could not have been just a
The noise attack from the restaurant became
shorter but still damaging enough to shred my nerves all over again. However, I had to stay home to keep records
of the hours and level of the noises until the police came to intervene. Every day made me sicker than the day before…it
seemed forever until my lawyer rang. The
police would finally come to measure the noise level in my apartment. It was scheduled at 10:00 at night. Two police men came in regular clothes so
that the restaurant would not be alerted.
The verdict was delivered swift. The device
of the police found my place to be inhabitable.
It was not me being fragile, or oversensitive. Mme. Empathy and Mr. Pride were truly running
‘the restaurant from Hell’ in Paris.
However, with the police report submitted to the court, my active counter
attack began. To be continued.