The true horror stories in modern Paris part 47

At the risk of disrupting the suspense of this horror story, I have to upload this episode to add reality to justify the claim of ‘True story’ after having linked my ordeal to supernatural.  I was in distress, but part of me still refused to believe that my near death encounter had been premediated…until my new acquaintance enlightened me as to the harsh reality of lives of workers in France.

My host was a French couple in a cozy apartment in Montmartre.  The man spoke several languages and his conversation revealed his intelligence.  He seemed a reliable character that I was not a bit surprised that he had once been elected as a union leader.  However, that was the beginning of his ordeal.  He fell victim to a horrendous power harassment from his superiors.  The French laws have, in fact, factored in this scenario and provide legal protection for union leaders, but the employers would always find a loop hole.  Of which details I cannot write here to protect his identity but the harassment got so cruel that he too sensed murderous intention.  Thus he had no difficulty believing my ordeal to be premediated.  The host continued in a resigned manner, ‘France is divided into two sectors: the privileged elites and the workers whose lives mean very little to the elites.’

It was not the first time I heard this sad phrase.  There had been another French young artist who said the same thing to me at a party.  I had just arrived in Paris with high hopes while he was uprooting himself so that his family could start a new life in USA.  So long as he stayed in France, his ideas would forever be crushed by the rich brats who are protected by the extensive connections of their fathers.  His talent was, however, appreciated in USA.  He was scouted and thus he left the elitist system that let him down behind.  I thought it was an isolated case, but one could not remain naïve for long in Paris.  I was already suffering Sound Hyper Sensitive condition which triggers palpation at hearing any noise of high or low frequency because Mr. Pride and the restaurant from Hell did not give a toss about my well-being.  My host, the former victim of power harassment, was also left with a permanent condition which disables him to work at his peak level. 

This encounter has changed my views on the infamous frequent strikes by the French workers.  I realize that they were NOT lazy bunches making demands at the expense of the commuters or tourists.  They were desperately fighting for their life, literally.  And their carelessness for details is not because they are inept, but because the system has robbed them of any hope for a better life.  Promotion is only for the rich or privileged, no matter how well you do your work.  To make their situation more exhausting is the immigrants who continue to hit their work place.  I am aware that my poor French speaking and hearing make it difficult for the French people who have to deal with me.  Had I been at a work place, the tasks of teaching me and fixing my mistakes would have been arduous for my work mates.  I vowed to remember this if I ever caught French people on their bad days.  I would still be hurt but this new ‘understanding of their reality’ would help me forget the pain quickly.  

To be continued.
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