Saturday, 13 October 2018
The true horror stories in modern Paris part 91
I could not update my blog last week as I moved back to Paris. Yes, the gong rang and the gloves were off. Mme. Landlord is still lurking around. This is what it means to live in Paris. One month of holidays to wind down and 11 months of fighting battles.
Nevertheless, it did not worry me anymore because after Mme. Landlord received a legal letter from my lawyer demanding to check her smartphone for the records to back up her claims that she fell off from my ladder while she attempted to take a call from my insurance company on my behalf, she did not even show up to the designated meeting. This shuttered my last hope that the insurance company may still have called her after leaving a message on my mobile. Mme. Landlord did not even try to explain herself to my lawyer, nor did she offer to pay back the medical fees she had wrongfully received from me. Any illusion I may still have clung to about her having some integrity was no more. I should rename her as Mme. Harmonie, the senior. She was always preaching about ‘living in harmony with friends and the weak’ which impressed men and the gullible like me. The truth was that the weak had to do as she demanded and and if the weak had money they had to pay her up in gratitude.
However, in order to avoid confusion, I shall continue to refer to the hyena as Mme. Landlord. She thought I would meekly pay her for the flashy new water tap which would have cost me far less than a legal letter by a lawyer. To her surprise I opted to leave a legal record of her behaviors because by then I had learnt that she would lie through her teeth to play a victim. Her sweet singing voice saved for gentlemen. Sure enough she spread the slander about me and had the nerve to send me the emails she had exchanged with her friends accusing me of wrong doings. The man who knew nothing about the sacrifice my mother had to make so that I would paint the apartment of Mme. Landlord, he advised her to act harsh with me in his email. Did she not think that giving me his email address was a bad idea? I duly sent him the copy of my legal letter. Of course, Mme. Landlord would insist that it was all lie, but the legal fee in France is steep. No one has that kind of money to spend on lies. At least, I did not hear his advice again.
All I wanted was the big old leech to be out of my life. I am not angry because her French friends do not fair so well either. I remember the time when Mme. Landlord made me and a man (another gullible fan of hers) move a discarded mattress that had been laid in the garbage room for weeks, to the guest room of her apartment. I was horrified. ‘You are not going to let your guest sleep on it? The rats were seen there running around!’ She was not fazed at all. ‘A clean sheet would hide it.’ Then I knew she would lie to her French friend that she went out of her way to purchase the mattress for him.’ I did not miss anything but ceasing to be her acquaintance.
I am not above wishing for a revenge, but I do not carry it out because moving on is far more important. However, in this case a revenge was done without me lifting a finger. My lawyer offered to reimburse Mme. Landlord for her old water tap in exchange of the reimbursement for my labor painting her apartment. Of course, she would calculate that the tap costs one tenth of what my lawyer demanded, so she backed off. But I know her greed would be in pain for months wrestling over the new tap fees she could not squeeze out from me. Just like she was writhing nearly a year over her failure to take more money from her former tenant Jupiter. Her agony was tangible. His real estate agent stepped in to shield Jupiter, and my lawyer had to step in to shield me from the big leech. Sadly, my wrist will never regain its former strength, but I must take the responsibility of having a bad judge of character. Revenge is about shifting all the blame onto the other person, but one's stupidity is not plausible either, unless you are a still a child.
To be continued.