The true horror stories in modern Paris part 40

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. 

The noise attack from the restaurant became shorter but still damaging enough to shred my nerves all over again.  Mr. Pride complained to the Syndic that I was pretending to be suffering from noise.  He had not even checked my apartment to know one way or the other.   That he could choose to simply ignore the pain of others was...utter new to me.  I did learn new things in France, didn't I?  

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.  
To be continued.

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