Thhe true horror stories in modern Paris part 46

My good FB friend made a valid comment last week.  I agree with him that I should not have made myself visible to the chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere, before the electrician arrived, but believe me I had it planned very differently.  Probably the first harsh lesson the expats have to learn is that ‘France does not give a rats about your plan.’  Perhaps I ought to have changed the title of this post to “pulling hair out until you go bald in Paris. 

My electrician had gone to a different address and despite the urgent nature of my predicament, he left without calling me on my mobile because he had misplaced my number.  The appointment was rescheduled after some difficulty but I knew it might all be for nothing because of what I witnessed while I waited for the electrician for his first visit that never took place.  I was watching the front door of our building from a distant when an ambulance siren was heard.  Then out came from the restaurant from Hell a man whose face had gone blue being carried out by the staff.  Mr. Sincere looked agitated as he knelt beside the man who was clearly unconscious.  It was still in March so they could not blame heat.  The ambulance pulled up.  I did not mention this incident in my last post because I do not have the full facts of what caused the man to pass out.  Was it something that the hospital would be obliged to contact the authority, I do not know.  However, I was not surprised when the electrician later found nothing in my apartment. 

It was not a total waste, the second visit of the electrician, because he discovered that our building lacked the earth tower to prevent a leakage of electricity related elements.  The architect of the restaurant would have known of this, but yet Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy continued to allow the installation of machines after machines while putting the health of everyone around at risk.  Mme. Landlord immediately contacted the Syndic, but even they could not organize the expense for the earth tower without the consent of the other landlords…which included Mr. Pride whose reaction would continue to stupefy us.  He would oppose it until his restaurant was given more advantage.  

I was almost impressed that he could totally ignore my predicament.  What sort of backgrounds, or upbringing one must have to become like that?

To be continued.
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