Monday, 27 August 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 62

My wrist has been hurting the last few days thus my delayed update.  I am still paying the price for having glorified Mme. Landlord’s personality and let her abuse me till my wrist snapped.  The amount of labour she threw upon me may not have done less damage had my muscle not been tense from the stress the restaurant from Hell was exposing me too day and night.  It may have helped if Mme. Landlord had allowed me to turn her heater on during the cold winter months.  

But I soldiered on for the honour of migrants, not just for Japanese people, because Mme. Landlord wrote to me that her friends applauded her for the few hours after I had put in one week into preparing and sanding her walls.  That she did not share with her French friends that I had done the hard work, was still tolerable.  However, she had the nerve of writing to me that her friends were disgusted that I had done nothing useful which surpassed the level of mere lying.  Mme. Landlord probably meant it as a blackmail so that I would put in more free work, but I realized with horror that she needed migrants to remain useless, so she could shine as the saint protector of pathetic migrants. 

The only way to silence the hypocrite was to do the excellent job.  Of course, she would take all the credit, but at least she would have no reasons to complain anymore.  So, I applied three layers of paint on her walls.  At this stage, I had put in another three full days of work.  I must remind you that she had purchased the half-priced cheap paint and the three layers was not giving her the desired result.  My arms were feeling sore which did not stop even during the night.  I asked Mme. Landlord for a break promising her to do more later, but she pretended not to have understood my French.  I repeated the same thing in English, which she ignored despite that her former occupation was a teacher.  I had to go down to my own room should nature call because Mme. Landlord lied me to that her toilet was broken.  I did not doubt her words because she always insisted to use my toilet every time she came to inspect my work in her other apartment.  It was also hard to believe that a lady of the advance country like France would stoop to mooching toilet paper from one of the migrants she boasts herself to be the protector of.  This went on for 9 months since her last tenant Jupiter left her apartment.

Then suddenly she told me to interrupt the painting and assigned me with a new task.  She decided to go after Jupiter for compensation and she needed a secretary for preparing documents.  My printer was made to work till it broke because she was persistent.  My wrist did not get as much rest as I needed.  Mme. Landlord made sure that I did by constantly repeating to me how much I owed her for her kindness.  

She did not know that my French reading had improved beyond her imagination, but I could read the communication between them and discovered that Jupiter had tried many times to fix the things she complained of in her apartment and that she sabotaged his effort each time.  She kept writing to him that she loathed the modern kitchen he had left behind, but she had insisted that I covered the modern kitchen board and shelves with cloths before I paint the walls for protection.  Mme. Landlord was only pretending to loathe the modern kitchen.  Financial extortion was her true aim.   If you are the first-time reader of my blog, let me tell you that Mme. Landlord also boasted herself to be gay tolerant that she would lend her room to Jupiter.  She would have nagged him on for compensation if it was not for me.  Seeing that Jupiter would not cave in, she turned her attention on my saving, small as it is. 

So, you see, Sir. Farage of Brexit, it is handy to keep migrants around because your white people can be shielded from the true evil who prefer to go after the weaker prays.  While this sounds sarcastic, I later became friends with Jupiter that I am truly glad that Mme. Landlord is off his back.

To be continued.
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