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 pretty face.

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.

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