Showing posts with label Paris. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paris. Show all posts

Wednesday, 30 January 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 103

I am grateful for the encouragement I received that I may deserve compensation from Mr. Pride.  I too would agree that children and the adults whose ability to rebuild their lives was destroyed should be compensated.  However, I have also witnessed the curse of ‘compensation’ on several occasions.

One was this man I met through his grandmother in Sydney, Australia.  As he entered the door a certain heaviness spread into the room. He smiled repeatedly, but meaninglessly which put me on guard rather than feeling warmed by it.  He was frequently hanging around at his grandmother’s place during the daytime without a proper job.  He dressed youngish but on a closer look you would notice wrinkles on his face.  In short, something about him was not right.  His left arm was temporary immobile for he just came out from an accident.  ‘Of course, he needs to be compensated’, said his grandmother.  Peculiar thing was that it was his third accident which seemed to have happened recurrently.  Each time he was paid compensation which enabled him to buy a house despite he was merely a wanna-be-musician surviving on odd jobs, mostly delivery jobs on a bike.  You would think he would be deterred from a job that would expose him to traffic after so many road accidents.  But no, this man just smiled saying, ‘it’ll be all right.’  As I looked into his eyes which was neither innocent nor courageous I felt nauseated.

A year later this man had his fourth road accident, this time injuring his neck.  His grandmother was naturally shaken but as I heard the news I was remembering that this wanna-be-musician had just gotten his long awaited gig cancelled.  Considering his age, it would have been very hard to land another gig.  He was of course filing a lawsuit for a fat compensation.  I may have been wrong to assume that he had become a compensation-junkie, but it is safe to conclude that his music career suffered from his false sense of financial security provided by the compensation money which amounted to more than a person could have earned in a life time.  It deprived him of the sense of alertness that all great musicians have. Drop-dead aura thrives on a sharp mind.  Our Mr. Compensation may possibly have been gifted, but his sense was rendered dull by the choices he made in life.  His grandmother told me that during his first accident he incurred a minor injury, but the level of his damage stepped up with the accidents that followed.  The fourth one damaged his nerve system that he would suffer a certain condition for the rest of his life.  Mr. Compensation became eligible for a welfare payout as well.  There are always women who are drawn to the helplessness of a victim of the circumstances.  As you might guess it, our Mr. Compensation married a woman whose father had money.

You might say, ‘well, Mr. Compensation’s case is unique’, but sadly, the attitude of Mr. Compensation appears to be contagious because we often read of families that take advantage of the welfare.  The curse of compensation escalates to take on a company, then a community and then…

To be continued.

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Monday, 21 January 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 102

I needed to re-publish this because for some reason my past post has surfaced to replace as the current post.  Why does my episode 100 now come after my episode 101?
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I agree with Christopher who suggested that I should demand compensation from Mr. Pride.  In appreciation of his loyal interest in my blog, I wish to explain why I have not yet done so.
1)     It was by my own will to move back to the apartment above his restaurant.  The necessity of insulation work was foreseeable.  Besides, if I received money from Mr. Pride, my self-appointed mission to spare several French tenants from the hellish noise would become smug-ish.

2)     However, I can still demand damage compensation for the time I was being exposed to the inhabitable condition, at a time near-death, which forced me to book other accommodation and the travel fees.  This happened a few weeks after I first moved in, so legally I can demand compensation.  However, I am waiting for the result of the lawsuit initiated by Mr. Pride.  Should the court order the landlords who voted against Mr. Pride out of sympathy for my plight, I will then demand compensation from Mr. Pride so I can pay back the kind-heart landlords.

Thus either way I am not going to receive money for myself from Mr. Pride because the act of demanding compensation will expose my mind to a precarious place where one step in a wrong direction will push me down to joining the Sludge, the victim business players.  Then I will lose far more than the compensation money.  I am not giving you a cliché that ‘one cannot take money to the next world after one’s death.’  I am going to share what I have witnessed, what becomes of the people who received money from one’s enemy in the long run.  No preaching fairy tales, just cold facts as to why only the children or the adults whose physical damage deprived them the ability to rebuild their lives ought to demand compensation in my next post because today I have to report what happened to Mr. Honor as I promised in my last post.

Mr. Honor was a man I once labelled as Goliath who bends justice.  However, I later learnt that he had climbed the social scale by pretending to be the defender of the minorities.  The male version of Mme. Landlord does not fit the title of Goliath because the true Goliath is the one who dominates with his own strength.  (If you happen to read my blog for the first time, please refer to my past posts to find out how Mme. Landlord was capable of getting what she wanted without lifting a finger)  I was appalled, as were my French neighbours, to have discovered how Mr. Honor took over a small part of the French system and bent justice in favor for the Sludge.  

However, a thing happened last autumn which saw the influence of Mr. Honor eclipsed, at least, began to eclipse.  I cannot go into detail here (I hope you understand) but the French neighbours resorted to give their collective support to elsewhere.  It was not the end of Mr. Honor, but it was at least the sign that domination in life may have the expiry date after all, however long one at that.  

To be continued.
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The true horror stories in modern Paris part 100

I shall not bore my readers by sharing how peace came to my mind through choosing to pay the price of living in the apartment above the restaurant from Hell in order to save someone whom I will never meet.  Some of you may even be disappointed that I did not opt for revenge.  But please, give some time to the wisdom of my ancestors which was to give one’s enemy what they want.  Not what they need.  One of the tragedies of humanity is that we do not always want what is good for us.  We often refuse to listen to what we truly need.  We are the worst enemy of ourselves.  I cannot give you the instant result of my decision because it will take time for its effect to surface if you care to stick around.  But there are some signs already. 

I shall start with the managers of the restaurant from Hell.  I did not complain when Mme. Harmonie extended their opening hours to midnight without lowering the music to the detriment of the residents of the building.  She got what she wanted.  However, this arrangement backfired because serious diners stay away from eateries with a long hours whose chef is deemed to be so mediocre that cannot attract diners during the decent hours.  Our restaurant from Hell is vacant during 18:30~20:30 while the nearby restaurants are busy with serious diners.  Some drinkers start dropping in late hours but they just want nibbles.  They will drink talk laugh till late without ordering an expensive dish.  The restaurant from Hell has become a bar in effect except it costs more to run than a real bar.  

The real bars do not need to pay a chef for the long hours and the place is usually cozy small, which translates to ‘less rent to pay’.  Our restaurant from Hell still has to pay the rent for a quite big place.  They often hold private parties with a loud music, which further consolidates the bad image of being a secondary restaurant that relies on music and long opening hours instead of food.  If only they had done the right things like other decent eateries considerate of their neighbors, they could have been more successful.  But it was Mme. Harmonie and her partners who made the ultimate decision to ignore the regulations of Paris restaurant code.

Let this be clear that I no longer want the restaurant from Hell to fail.  I prefer that they stay in our building so that they will not create another hell somewhere else.  There must not be any more victims of the Sludge and their bar-restaurants.  Therefore, I am now glad that I refrained from appealing my lawsuit against the restaurant which legalized their questionable right to run a restaurant.  Victory for them… if they can run a profitable restaurant.  They are bound to Mr. Pride by a contract to keep paying him the rent for 3 to 10 years in Paris no matter how little their profit may be.  However, if the right of restaurant had been cancelled by the court, Mme. Harmonie could have demanded a compensation from Mr. Pride for having failed to disclose my old lawsuit before Mme. Harmonie bought the faulty right.  The compensation figure could have been bigger than the profit she will ever make from her mildly successful bar-restaurant from Hell.

Speaking of Mr. Pride, I shall write how he is doing after my decision in my next post.  To be continued.
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Sunday, 13 January 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 101

As my readers would know from my past posts Mr. Pride, the landlord of the restaurant from Hell was not quite a monster Mme. Landlord had made him out to be.  She often performed a tacky impersonation of Mr. Pride, of how he sniggered at my near death encounter.  Boorishness of the sight of an old woman going ‘Hee hee!’ which I attributed to Mr. Pride was in fact that of Mme. Landlord herself.  Unlike her prediction, Mr. Pride apologized that the excess electromagnetic or something overflowing from the badly installed commercial electric appliances in his kitchen below my bedroom nearly killed me.  I am not the one to discredit apologies by claiming that they were not genuine enough.  The perpetrator still has a choice to give an apology or not because with his power he could resume to dominate the weak in this dog-eat-dog world.  If he has so chosen to stop taking advantage of the situation, then his action speaks louder than his words.  It is to be noted that some victims who insist that they are not about money but sincerity of the apology, would repeat compensation demands claiming that the previous sum did not reflect enough ‘sincerity.’ 

Back to Mr. Pride who was not a monster, but not a compassionate person either.  When I moved back to the room above his restaurant from Hell, I wrote to him that I would pay for the sound proof insulation inside my room and my only request was that he move his big commercial freezer 5~7cm away from the wall so that the vibrating noise would be weaker when it reached my apartment via the wall.  This would not have cost him a cent, but he chose to ignore my request.  Mr. Pride did not want a person’s death on him, but ongoing suffering caused by the noise emitted by his restaurant from Hell, he had no sympathy for.  This was not too surprising but I had wanted to know if he shared the same attitude as the Sludge, the victim-business players. 

I did not have to wait long.  Mr. Pride decided to demand a big sum of compensation from all the landlords who had voted against his restaurant.  His lawyer claimed Mr. Pride to be a victim of a gross obstruction of business that Mme. Landlord and the others should pay him for having put more importance on my sufferings over his business.  Mr. Pride refused to acquiece that there was any noise from his restaurant from Hell.  His lawyer went to accuse me of abusive behavior for pretending to be a victim in hope to sabotage his restaurant.  I was puzzled because what victim-pretender would spend their own money on an unnecessary insulation?  Then I realized that Mr. Pride was perhaps afraid that I would demand compensation from him.  What he accused of me, pretending to be a victim, demanding compensation…all reflected his attitude as the Sludge.  Oh what a pity.

Mr. Pride would never believe that I was accepting the restaurant from Hell so that it would not relocate to prey on more people.  He would continue to grab what he wanted and would succeed most likely.  However, he will never know of the treasure given freely by the others.  For instance, I have just received a message from TripAdvisor that I have progressed to become the top 43rd popular reviewer of Paris.  I have not yet and shall not ever write a negative reviews about the restaurant from Hell, but had Mr. Pride been a little more harmonious, I would have searched for reasons to write a glowing review. It may not be much, but it would have been some help.  The other residents of the building would have become clients too—the best type of regular clients an eatery can hope to have.  

Next post is about what happened to Mr. Honor, the man I once referred to as Goliath who protected the restaurant from Hell at all cost.  

To be continued
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Friday, 28 December 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 99

December is always the busy month but the year 2018 was crazy throughout. I was physically stressed and my soul was tested continuously.  Where did it land in the end?

Mrs. Landlord sold one of her apartments to an unsuspecting couple who was in overseas.  Paris is so popular that there are people who would buy a property before even looking at it. The real estate folks universally have no problems stretching facts and Paris is no exception.  Is it any coincidence that the real estate women often snag unsuspecting heirs to some fortune?  However, the couple who bought from Mme. Landlord was not innocent either because they immediately tried to rent the noisy apartment out without applying any insulation.  I was dismayed that the trail of victims of the restaurant from Hell would continue to stretch.  However, who was I to blame when I had moved out from the apartment myself?  I felt dodgy as the previous tenant who washed his hands off me when he foresaw the hell to come.

Then the inspiration came to me.  With Mme. Landlord out of the picture, I could move back to that the apartment above the restaurant from Hell and reinstall the advanced insulation materials from Japan.  So long as I stayed there, there would be no more poor students nor young French tenants to fall victims to the devil that was greed.  It was a ridiculous sacrifice that everyone would sneer at, but to me it felt right.  The act would lift me out of the dire state as the victim, and then up into becoming someone who would shoulder the pain of the weak (in this case, those without the means to insulate the apartment).  I refrained from using the word ‘protector’ because it would remind me of Mme. Landlord who demanded ample rewards for ‘pretending to be the protector of the weak’.  I would not go down her road because I would be doing a favor to someone I would never meet.  My soul would be protected from the evil of demanding gratitude. 

Thus I have been extremely busy, moving back to the room above Hell, paying for some insulation work to maximize the effects of the advanced insulation materials from Japan.  I still hear some noise because the brutal noise from the restaurant rendered me sensitive to noise, but it would not be a sacrifice without some pain to endure.  The indifferent couple does not communicate with me directly and the real estate agent simply demands rent at the going rate of Paris.  I had expected this after more than three years in Paris.  Nor do I wish the restaurant from Hell to leave because those self centered people will simply go on to create another Hell elsewhere to claim more victims. 

Four years ago I made a promise to myself that I would stop relying on the sunshine of tropical Australia.  I hoped to shine in darkness on my own strength.  I moved to Paris of more somber weather and I have been tested on so many times and so many levels.  And now I am on the mission of creating a piece of Heaven above the restaurant from Hell.  I shall not doom my soul to become ‘A victim-turned-predator.’ 

To be continued for my decision had ramifications.
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Sunday, 16 December 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 98

Have you ever saved a poor bullied at some stage in your life?  And did the bullied remain grateful to you?  Or, maybe the same bullied turned on you when the gang shifted their bullying on you instead?  

The former bullied knows the pain you are going through and yet the ungrateful former bullied will join the bullying to attack you.  That makes them more cowards than the bully who does not yet know the pain of being bullied.  My intention is not to play a British style words game, but I hope my message is getting across to you.  The person who is more despised than the bully is the former bullied who joins a collective bullying.  Furthermore, the former bullied-turned predator will slip back into the discriminated position when it will be more convenient to appear weak in this politically-correct age.  Media loves the story of underdogs, the victims, etc. because it will get a higher rating.

While the bully grabs what he wants, there are crafty ones who prefer to manipulate others into giving him/her the prize.  If you ever have watched any of those cooking contest on TV’, there is always a contestant who initially appears timid and helpless.  She may even cry to milk sympathy of the judges and the viewers that would carry her over to the advanced level which she does not have the merit to deserve.  Then to the horror of the viewers, cockiness appears on the former helpless lamb.  She starts to act like she has earned the glory all by her self and arrogant statements would come out of her ungrateful lips. Before you know it, she will be posing for a cover magazine to now the horror of the professional models or the truly beautiful.  Nothing like a rigged victory to discourage the young people from making right efforts. 

Victim card works and gets you what you do not deserve.  It may be the biggest temptation the people is exposed in the modern age.  Why don’t I join them having been exposed to the success of the Sludge people behind the restaurant from Hell  who know every trick in the book of former victim business?  Their neighbors can't touch those regulation cheaters because they are afraid of being sued for discrimination.  Had it been a French owner the restaurant from Hell would have been shut down after three complaints to the authority.    

The people who knows my situation (and the readers of my blog) would not argue that I have been their victim in true sense and they suggest revenge.  But I would have to remain a victim throughout the process of revenge.  The longer I remain a victim, more chances of me becoming a stealthy predator.  I am a human after all.  The benefit of the victim card is tempting, but becoming a Sludge feels ominious.   They are getting by, but their restaurant could have been so much better had they chosen to do things right.   Yet, my not doing anything would seem like a defeat to the bully, almost a poor excuse for not having the courage to fight back the evil.

Then I had an inspiration.  It showed me the way out from being a victim without any sense of defeat.  To be continued.
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Saturday, 8 December 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 97

I could not update my blog last week because of flu.  Doctor was right, I should have remembered to get a flu shot.  I also wish there were a shot that would have boosted our immune system against the unfairness in life.  Oh, well…I just have to invent one myself.

Though the hyenas are contemptible for cowardly preying on the victims already bitten and fallen by predators, we can still assume that they would not have chosen this path if the predator/bullies had not existed in the first place.  So what makes the bullies tick?    ‘Greed’ goes without saying.  Predators bully the weak to squeeze out whatever they fancy be it money or sadistic pleasure.  As Mr. Maher has said during his show, power begets power, I can see why the predators would stick to bullying which has proven to work.  But one thing puzzles me.  The bullies still wish to be popular and liked too.  

How can you expect love or even some approval from someone you have just bullied, robbed or deceived?  I can see that their greed is so humongous that they want it all, power, money and love, but please, have some logic!  Of course, some people have achieved this feat in the history but they were known to have conscience and they did not rely on bullying.  No decent mind would give a minute to the bullies.  Thus the bullies resort to nepotism or favoritism.  The bullies have to look for sub-decent lots who would sell their soul for a right price.  There is an apt name for these opportunists: sycophants. 

Often the sycophants are more despised than the bully himself because the sycophants abuse the power despite they have no merits of their own.  They ride on the back of the bully while fully aware of the pain they incur on others, even enjoying it.  Fortunately, the sycophants almost always meet the same end: fired or kicked out by the bully.  The bully do not like being used because it is a privilege granted only to the bully himself.  Human psychology is a funny thing.  You can almost forget for a split second how much you disapprove of the bully when he has crushed his sycophants.  Maybe the bully keeps the sycophants to blame his wrongdoings later.   There is never love to be lost between the bully and the sycophants.  Only the sugar-coated agenda on the both sides.  It must be really lonely at the top when you are a bully.  

Nevertheless the bullies will survive but not the sycophants.  The world will punish the wimps, once they are deprived of the power they had never deserved.  The sycophants seem to meet an end very similar to that of the hyena.  Forsaken and loss of credentials.  No one replies to Mme. Landlord anymore and her un-spruced apartments have not yet been bought despite the lowered price in Paris where properties sell like hot potato chips.

However, there is one group of people who are more deplorable and more hated than the hyenas, the sycophants and even the bullies.  This last group is the most tempting that I must resist joining at all cost.  To be continued.
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Monday, 26 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 96

I may have given the impression in my last post that I was about to embrace a religion.  Not quite yet although the case of Mme. Landlord taught me the importance of believing in the existence of God as an omnipotent-supervisor.  She lied and manipulated because she did not feel the God’s eyes on her.  We tend to commit anything if no one was looking.  Belief in God will check me from joining the victim-turned-predator business.

However, embracing a religion does not seem to save people from corruption either.  The Sludge people is one example.  It seems they use God as their front that shields them from accusation while engaging in foul acts behind the back of the God while he is looking away.  People reproach the Sludge for their foul acts, but the Sludge will turn the argument around and scream religious discrimination.  My one loyal reader wished to know the name of their faith, but that is not important.  A good religion was molded into a cult by the Sludge as a potent mean to push their agenda.  It is quite a foolproof tactics, but the Sludge can derive strength even from their rare loss as a bonus of the victim-business.  There is no winning with them.

The readers of my blog may remember that I decided to let the Sludge win and win instead. While it sounds crazy arming them with more success, but in my post 92, I described how Mme. Harmonie was being affected by her own poison.  Here is the link, and please come back to read the current state of the restaurant from Hell.


Having failed to attract clients during the regular dining hours, Mme. Harmonie opted to extend it to midnight.  For this she should have applied for a Service Continu license that allows long hours.  It would cost her money and never the one to play by book, Mme. Harmonie avoided the problem by announcing the new late opening hours on the social media site only.  Decent restaurants would be upfront about it on their menu on their windows, but not Mme. Harmonie.  She did not bother to inform Mr. Pride, her landlords that she would be extending her business hours illegally either.  Mme. Harmonie knew that I still suffered from their illegal large noisy kitchen appliances not permitted to the small size eatery kitchen, but she would still refuse to insulate her kitchen.  I may have moved out of my old apartment, but my new apartment was not that far away from the restaurant from Hell.  However, I did not complain to the authority.

Now, it is universally acquiesced that food is mediocre at the long hour bar-restaurants.  People may have thought that the restaurant from Hell had to open late because they could not attract serious diners who would sit down for three courses meals during the regular hours.  Mme. Harmonie used her media connection and obtained many good reviews, but it did not boost the number of serious diners.  Soon, the restaurant from Hell opted to tapas style, offering small dishes to share among friends.  This increased the number of late diners, while lowering the average consumption of each client.  It would have worked in a small eatery but the restaurant from Hell had a large dining area in the most expensive part of Paris.  The expensive rent would still have to be paid. 

In this unfair world, sadly the restaurant from Hell would be successful one day, but it was not happening fast enough for Mme. Harmonie.  I know this because she has started to serve brunch on Sundays too.  Less respite from their kitchen noise for me, but she would not even think about an insignificant Asian migrant with no voice.

What Mme. Harmonie does not know is that I am one of the top 50 influential reviewers of TripAdvisor in Paris.  I received the congratulation message from the editor last week.  To be continued.
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Monday, 19 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 95


Mme. Landlord resorted to nick-picking to undermine my reputation, but the other neighbors would not take any notice.  They must have always suspected her hypocrisy but did not want to be wrong.  Now she was met with a unanimous silence against her slander about me.  I felt so encouraged that I was ready to stare back at Mme. Landlord should we meet as I came out from my apartment in the same building.

But it never came to that.  Mme. Landlord put her apartments up to sale sooner than she had anticipated under the worst condition.  One apartment she had planned to sell with a renovated kitchen, courtesy of her former gay tenant Jupiter.  That did not pan out as he stripped it off as he left as he realized that she had him duped.  She was stuck with her old appliances which Jupiter had kept in her storage area.  Her other apartment had its value crumbled by the existence of the restaurant from Hell.  She tried to recoup the loss through piggy banking on my lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell without paying a cent herself.  That did not pan out when I withdrew my lawsuit.  It never had the chance because of Mr. Honor anyway, but Mme. Landlord was still furious when I withdrew it against her will.  Instead my lawyer rebuked her for her wrongdoings which blocked her from extracting money from me. 


She was never a fighter, just a hyaena that fed on victims.  It never seemed to occur to her to endeavor in a normal way.  She could have still paid some professionals to do up her apartment, but the photos on the real estate site show no such a trace.  Apart from the walls that I painted, the rooms looked shabby.  Did not any of her children from her multi marriages help her?  I even recognized the old trash left on the same spot as a few months ago.  She may have been lying about her close relationship with her children.  She was not invited to their Christmas dinner in the two years that I knew her.   

Then one photo stopped me.  In her guest room the large bed mattress she had retrieved from the garbage room was still there.  It was covered up by a reasonably clean bed cover, but the content remained a dirty lump ran over by mice.  This symbolizes what she became in the end.  My wrist broke because of her, but I am still grateful for one thing she showed me.  That atheist risks being taken over by some powerful force to fill the void left by a religion.  We are weak humans after all.  Mme. Landlord denied God and was possessed by Greed instead.  An old woman who disgusted my mother by always insisting on using my toilet paper with a sheepish smile despite she had her own toilet upstairs in the same building.  She'd better believe that God does not exist because it is with that sheepish vulgar face she would be facing the Maker no matter how much she tries to conceal it with a sweet fake voice.   

Oh, wait.  She became a self-appointed ruler herself.   She may have snatched a lot from other people but may have missed out on bigger rewards that could have been obtained by her not soliciting.  I would have gladly given her my furniture (the ones I bought) so that her apartment would look appealing had she not lied to me that it was an obligation of migrants in France to co-operate with their landlord in every way.    Her children and grandchildren could have benefitted from my connection should they have wanted to try their luck in Japan.  I may be just a migrant in France, but back in Japan, I am a graduate of Keio University, Japanese version of Oxford University.   

The breaking news: In Paris the expo 2025 has just been awarded to Osaka Japan.  Another city to host a great international event where I have relatives and friends.  Mme. Landlord and her family had a place to stay in Tokyo during the Olympic 2020 and in Osaka during the expo 2025 courtesy of me.  And she had blown it all away by demanding me to pay for a water tap that I broke while I was painting her apartment for a free.  If she had been graceful enough to accept my offer that was equal to the price of her water tap, what a great time she would have enjoyed.  In life it does pay to be nice and patient.  You just don’t always know it. 

To be continued.
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Sunday, 11 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 94

I could not update my blog last week because of the pain in my wrist.  It is healing slowly, but the pain returns whenever I stress it.  But my mind was busy wrestling with many ideas about my identity.  Then I thought I should start but analyzing each harmonious character in my true horror stories.  Let me start with Mme. Landlord, the ruthless whipper of the weak while pretending to be their savior.  How does such a personality develop?

The clue may be in the fact that she was not a born Parisian.  Every city has a hierarchy that consists of the in-crowds that were born with the non-coded priority over those who joined the city from elsewhere.   Mme. Landlord often spoke proudly of her birthplace, but her eyes betrayed her words.  She chose not to return to her birthplace which speaks the truth.  The late joiners of the city struggle to secure their place unless blessed with a tolerable wealth or some kind of accomplishments.  Did Mme. Landlord have any of them?  A daughter from a decent family would not grow up to be a scavenger of garbage rooms.  Her sense of hygiene did not revolt against bringing a discarded mattress (run over by mouses) into her bedroom.   Then how would an ambitious woman with no advantages navigate herself in a city?  How would she climb up the social ladder?

By pretending to possess what the rich and the successful are stereotyped to be lacking it.  Empathy.  No other virtue has been more abused because you can act it while regular accomplishment requires a lot of hard work or even financial expenses.  Mme. Landlord boasted of her volunteer works, boasted of getting involved in many good causes.  It left unpleasant aftertaste that she would demand recognition or gratitude each time, unlike my acquaintances in Japan who had kept quiet about their volunteer works until I accidently found out.  However, her tactics must have worked for Mme. Landlord because despite there were some who suspected her true color (Mr. Brave wrote about it) she managed to gain respect as a moral leader who became the equal to the rich and the successful among the circle which she had insinuated herself into.  But there was one person who was not fooled.  Herself.

Not naturally empathetic nor generous, her life-long acting would naturally take its toll on her.  She vented her frustration on the weak whose voice would not be heard.  She was all smile to an aristocrat gentleman while writing slander about him in her emails to me. I have written in one of my updates about the night when I was made to move her bulky furniture.  It was not an isolated episode, of course, and one day she made me move other piece of her bulky furniture during the daytime.  She came along to give me instructions, so I would not damage her old furniture, which was not precious enough for her to pay the taxi fares for.  What was the point of having migrants around if you could not use them for free labor?

A couple of French women were chatting on the street.  I had to stop because there was no room on the narrow street of Paris.  I was about to politely ask them to let me pass when Mme. Landlord hurled some abusive comments to the women.  Even I could understand the part ‘people have lost manner to make space for others in Paris!’  The two women looked hurt more than offended and said something softly in French as they stepped aside.  I felt compelled to apologize to the French women for the rude behavior of Mme. Landlord while she walked past them triumphantly.    Where was this moral leader Mme. Landlord passed herself as?  What was to become of her?

Unexpectedly, I was to find out sooner than I thought.  To be continued.

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Tuesday, 30 October 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 93

Back in the old ages, predators were savage and physical.  Victims were slain to death.  There was no coming back from that.  But in the modern age, predators tend to shy away from physical abuses remembering the legal consequences.  Thus, came the age of victim-business.

It is quite fool proof and yet potent.  Generally, people are sucked in by the former victims’ sad tales, no matter how shamelessly elaborated, and believe them without checking the facts.  Some smart or life-wise ones would voice their suspicion, only to be struck back with the accusation of discrimination of all kinds: racist, religious persecutors, misogynist, ageism…the list goes on.  If you have some money, the victim-business will send their lawyer to milk you, over and over because it does not matter how much money you have paid already, it is the heart that counts, and you have not apologized sincere enough.  So, pay up!  One word from you complaining their elaboration of the facts, the price will hike even steeper.  It is quite lucrative, this victim-business of the modern age.  Best of all, no one can stop them, and they feel no remorse about having turned predators of a more sinister kind.  In their mind they are always right that the world should revere them.  The sense of obligation and respect for the order goes out of the window.  It is not cheating if they do it.  Hard work is for the idiots, like Japanese workers, who are forever indebted to the victim business.

It is so tempting to go down this road.  God knows, I nearly did after being exposed to ‘the sludge’ community for so long.  But Mme. Landlord showed me what is in store for the victim-business.  She manipulated me by mimicking Mr. Pride jeering at my health damaged by his restaurant from Hell.  It was such a vulgar sight that spoke a world about her true color.  And yet I attributed the vileness to Mr. Pride because my self-righteousness blocked me from seeing who she was.  I was against ageism, and she took much advantage of it.  Wasn’t I fooled when she acted out the scene where she was being bullied by Mr. Pride?  Furthermore, she thoughtfully advised me not to have a direct contact with Mr. Pride because he was a crafty man who would use my word and twist them against me.  In hindsight she robbed my chance of finding out the facts.

I am so grateful that I ran into Mr. Pride after I had left the influence of Mme. Landlord. His eyes were not as arrogant as I had been made to believe.  In the end he was a man who was  duped by Mme. Empathy, just like I was by Mme. Landlord.  In his own way, he apologized to me for my horrendous near-death experience caused by Mme. Empathy.  It took me a while to apologize to him myself for having opposed him without verifying the facts, but I needed time to be sure that Mr. Pride was not part of ‘The Sludge’ or ‘the victim-business.  And more time to find a definition of myself.  I was not going to be a victim, the word I detest now.  I must not turn a predator either.  

Then what am I to be?   To be continued.

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Sunday, 21 October 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 92


I have just edited my last post in which I had renamed a character.  In hindsight it may have caused confusion, thus I decided to bring back the old name, Mme. Landlord, to the hyena lady.  I also mentioned in the last post that she had lied to me about the personality of Mr. Pride, but smart readers would have suspected it already.

So, instead I shall report to you the latest of the restaurant from HELL.  In my last post I explained why I refrain from investing my life in revenge.  However, I still take measures to stop any further damages.  This is called ‘survival.’  Let me refresh your memory by referring you to my post number 74.  In it, I explained why my last resort was to let them win until they weaken themselves with their own toxins.

I no longer proceeded with my lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell.  I cannot reveal the facts, but Mr. Honor pulled the string in the end and my lawyer was made to feel the pressure.  In this sense, a lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell never had a chance and Mme. Landlord knew this.  Thus she did not want to spend her own money on legal procedures and schemed to use mine while pretending to be sympathetic to my suffering.  But even if she had been a nice lady as she portrayed herself to the world, I still would not have appealed because I sensed that any defeat would further empower the sludge. 

In case you have not read my posts about the young Mme. Harmonie who became the new owner of the restaurant from Hell, she was the one who demanded the residents to show understanding to the restaurant in the name of harmony while telling me to keep my windows closed if I did not want to hear their noise instead of insulating her noisy machines up to the standard.   However, I stopped calling the police as the restaurants from Hell broke the regulations and repeatedly blasted the neighborhood with a monstrous music.  Had it faced the busy street, it would have been understandable, but they terrorized this quiet off-street in the historic corner of Paris.  With nothing to stop her, Mme. Harmonie kept on and wasted her only chance to change the bad reputation she had inherited from Mme. Empathy who had washed off the restaurant from Hell on Mme. Harmonie.  The neighborhood was about to organize a petition against the restaurant, but stopped to see if the new owner would behave right.  Mme. Harmonie proved to be no better than Mme. Empathy, if not worse. 

The restaurant from hell failed to win local regular diners that even its chef quitted before his anniversary.  Of course, this was far from over for Mme. Harmonie, but I have become immune to disgust after three years in Paris.  Instead I thought it was interesting that there was these two women who shared the similar attitude but one was Mme. Harmonie from a cult and one was Mme. Landlord, an atheist.  To be continued.

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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.

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Sunday, 30 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 90

A French lawyer working as the assistant of my regular lawyer was assigned my case against Mme. Landlord.  He would naturally be bias as I was his client, but still the genuine shock on his face was enough proof that Mme. Landlord had behaved without honor according to the French standards.  My lawyer was even more disgusted because he had once spent hours calming the nerve of Mme. Landlord when the restaurant from Hell was winning.  Who paid for the expense?  Me, of course.  But I arranged it as a gift from me to Mme. Landlord because she was a dear friend of mine…at that time.  I had expected it would cost me one-hour legal fees, but Mme. Landlord took the advantage of my offer and consulted my lawyer for her own business too.  My legal tab was for 2 hours and more.  However, I was still happy when I paid for it that my French lawyer was touched by my generosity and loyalty.

However, Mme. Landlord has chosen to abuse my trust and even extract more money from me.  My French lawyer was indignant that an aged woman who was a grandmother of many grandchildren should have chosen to exploit a migrant young enough to be her daughter.  In hindsight, he was puzzled that Mme. Landlord who started with a few words about my plight by the hand of the restaurant from Hell, the two hours legal consultation soon disintegrated into how much she despised the restaurant that had depreciated the financial value of her apartments.  She was adamant about kicking Mr. Pride and his restaurant from Hell and for that she made use of my suffering…and my money.  I was once grateful that my rent was lowered for it, but my lawyer immediately suspected that Mme. Landlord would collect the difference after the restaurant was out of the building.  She has tried this method before with Jupiter.  She allured him into paying for renovating her apartment and then terminated the lease and demanded compensation for the damage.  This way she could sell her apartment, now done up in a modern style thus more sellable than before, with no expense on her at all.

My lawyer suspected Mme. Landlord would repeat her antics with me, so his legal letter to her covered many grounds.  Mme. Landlord made a mistake of having consulted her own problems with my lawyer, leaving a legal record that she had knowingly benefitted from my lawyer.  My lawyer demanded a counter compensation from on all the hours of legal fees.  My painting labor alone would have cost Mme. Landlord 5000 euros had she employed a professional.  My lawyer halved it out of good faith.  He wished to demand her for the injury on my wrist because it has affected my career and would continue to do so in future, but as I left France immediately after the injury to accompany my fragile mother back to Japan, it would be difficult to prove the liability of Mme. Landlord. 

While he was finalizing his legal letter, Mme. Landlord bombarded me with her emails demanding me to do the right thing and observe the harmony among the neighbors.  Her hypocritical words resembled that of Mme. Harmonie of the restaurant from Hell.  No wonder Mme. Landlord detested her.  They were birds of a feather.  To be continued.

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Sunday, 23 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 89

I wrote in my last post the reason why I have been irregular in updating my blog.  My wrist has had up days and down days when it simply hurt too much to type.  Today has been one of those latter days.  I apologize in advance if I fail my readers again.

With my left hand only I emailed to Mme. Landlord to apologize for having broken her tap.  I offered to replace it as soon as I return from Japan.  ‘…right now, I need to catch a plane to accompany my mother because she is too fragile to travel alone.’…Yes, that cruel Mme. Landlord had made me work till the morning of my mother’s departure from France.  Mme. Landlord did not even give my mother a chance to drive around Paris briefly for the last time.  To her, migrants were hers to own and benefit from.

I managed by tipping whoever willing to carry our luggage because my wrist had lost its mobility.  Once on the plane, my mother started to cry and blamed her for my injury.  It did not make sense to me, but she revealed that she was never ill during her stay in Paris.  She only pretended to be ill so that I would leave her to fulfill my promise I made to Mme. Landlord about painting her apartment.  She sized up Mme. Landlord immediately that she was a dark character who would spread slander about me if she did not get what she wanted.  My mother was worried that her slander may ruin my chance of befriending other decent neighbors, so she chose to sacrifice her last chance to see Europe and stayed alone in my room for a full week.  Little did she imagine that Mme. Landlord would be so avaricious that she would abuse me to the point my wrist would snap in the cold chilly apartment where she refused to turn on her heaters for me. 

Soon both my mother and I were crying in the plane bound for Japan.  I regret that my desire to befriend a French, my desire to become a grateful migrant has sacrificed my mother’s happiness.  I had sort of suspected that Mme. Landlord’s kind words were not without agenda, but my principles disciplined me to repay her fake kindness all the same.  How naïve of me to have hoped that she would be touched by my sincerity.  I should distance myself from Mme. Landlord after this hard lesson.

It was not over.  When I returned to my mother’s home and turned on my computer, a message was waiting for me.  It was from Mme. Landlord sending me a bill for a new tap, more expensive than her old one, and the installation fee.  I explained my wrist and how my mother sacrificed her dream holidays for Mme. Landlord.  Surely, she could wait till I return in a month?  I was still naive.  The cruel woman ignored my mother’s distress and simply warned me that if I did not pay immediately, I would be paying interest. 

The hyena was after my money shamelessly, just like she pursued Jupiter, the sensitive gay tenant for his money.  Very well, I would pay.  Not for her, but for fighting her.  I placed an international call to my lawyer in Paris.  
To be continued.
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Sunday, 16 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 88

You might wonder why I still honored my promise I made to Mme. Landlord to paint her apartment despite her harsh nature that had revealed itself with time.  One was for the honor of all the migrants.  Mme. Landlord would spread around a slander about another ungrateful migrants who would not return her kindness.  Completing the painting was the only way to prevent it.  But another reason was a sentimental one.  I naively hoped that my sincerity might soften her attitude in the end.  In hindsight I guess I realized something was wrong, but I believed sincerity was the only way an Asian could befriend a French in Paris.

Mme. Landlord informed me that she was having a guest over in April and thus she must have her apartment ready by then.  She was not in Paris in the month of January, so I assumed there would be no painting during the cold winter months.  I decided to have my mother flown from Japan into Paris to my new room.  I should have done so sooner considering her advanced age, her fragileness precipitated by four operations, but I had to delay it thanks to the restaurant from Hell below who made my former apartment a hell to live.  Not the environment for my fragile mother.  February was not exactly the ideal month for a visit, but Paris is mesmerizing at any time of the year.

The first 10 days with my mother was wonderful.  She needed my assistance all the time, but she loved every minute of it.  Then…it happened.  Mme. Landlord returned all of sudden to Paris and ordered me to resume the painting of her apartment to repay her for her kindness.  I explained that my mother was here with me for just another 10 days and there would be a plenty of time before her guest arrived in 2 months.  But non, Mme. Landlord was going away on holidays in March and she could not fully relax and enjoy it if her apartment was not done.  She was going away with her grandson that I should know the importance of family.  I wrote to her that my mother was my family too and this was probably going to be her last chance to see Europe if her pending eye operation was not successful.  Mme. Landlord completely ignored this and still insisted.

I realized then that the kindness to migrants was costly and that migrants’ family clearly came secondary to the French family.  I could not abandon my mother, but then she fell ill.  She told me to go fulfill my promise while she rested in peace.  I knew my mother’s keen sense of obligation would suffer if I violated it, so I sadly went up the stairs to Mme. Landlord’s apartment on the top floor.  The hyena looked satisfied that her free help came.  She stayed around for a while to give me tons of instruction but left because the room was too cold.  She told me that her heater was still not fixed, and the toilet was still broken.  Needless to say, Mme. Landlord had no words of sympathy for my mother who had fallen ill.  Instead, she bang on my door loudly to wake my sick mother up so she could use my toilet.  Economizing on toilet paper was more important than the health of an aged migrant to Mme. Landlord.  I hope that no other French women are this vulgar.

I continued to finish the painting because coldness made me numb, body and mind.  I was too sad to confront the reality that my sincerely had been exploited.  Days after I was finally cleaning up having finished the job.  The cold water numbed my wrist for the last time.  I said ‘last’ because the tap snapped as I turned it.  I realized with horror that I had broken Mme. Landlord’s tap and the mobility of my wrist was gone. 

My readers would know that which one of us demanded compensation.  To be continued.
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Monday, 10 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 87

The month of January 2018, I was left in peace during the long absence of Mme. Landlord.  She wanted to enjoy the time with her grandchildren.  However, she did not leave quietly…as my readers might guess by now.

Mme. Landlord would not release my deposit easily.  She cooked up all the things that needed to be replaced new.  Luckily, my insurance agent had advised me to take photos of the apartment when I was first allowed in.  They needed to contest the claims concocted by Mme. Landlord, just like she did with her former tenant Jupiter who had his deposit denied for taking out what rightly belonged to him.  What happened next needs a bit of explanation, so unbelievable her attitude was.

She had an accident falling off from a ladder when her phone rang.  Now the phone call was from my insurance agent and the ladder belonged to me.  She had insisted on leaving it in her apartment until the painting was completed.  She made a huge fuss about her fall, telling everyone that she fell from the ladder while removing the glues from her walls.  She repeated to the world that had I done the job right, she would not have needed to be up the ladder.  Had I lefft her apartment in a good condition, my agent would not have bothered her.  Mme. Landlord had a lot of experience with Japanese students and tenants that she knew my sense of obligation would yield if she succeeded in making me feel guilty. 

She was right.  I felt obliged to pay her medical bills because she got injured in relation to the action of my agent.  Later my French lawyer advised me that I was not responsible for her injury, but I had already paid her.  There was a flash of sheepishness in her eyes, but she took the money and quickly pushed it down her pocket looking very satisfied.  I asked her for the receipt issued by the pharmacy.  I did not want to repeat the same mistake made by the Japanese government who paid a chunk of compensation money without an international witness and ended up endlessly being demanded of compensation by a certain group of people.  I personally agree that financial compensation does not heal everything, but it does not hurt for them to acknowledge what they have already received from Japan over decades. 

After Mme. Landlord left to join her family, I spoke with my insurance agent.  It turned out they had never called Mme. Landlord.  They had in fact called me and left a message.  I checked my mobile’s records and found the message sent on the day Mme. Landlord claimed to have the accident trying to answer the call from my agent.  It was a petty lie and yet her circle of friends were disgusted that ‘here is another ungrateful migrant causing a trouble to the French.’  I understand the concern of Madame Le Pen about the ungrateful migrants because some of them are disrespectful of the French ways.  But I hope she knew of migrants like me who are made ‘scapegoat.'

To be continued.
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Sunday, 2 September 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 86

Not all migrants are financially challenged.  Some of them are elites who had to flee their homeland to protect their wealth.   Such was this Turkish doctor whose acquaintance Mme. Landlord boasted of a lot.  She would say ‘I was raised as a Catholic, but I do not like religions.  Thus, I do not discriminate Muslims.’  For many months this kind of her comments impressed me.  She told me how many of her rich friends frequently invited her for all expenses trip in exchange of her doing them some favors.  Still, I thought she would pay for her own meals.  I would if my travel and accommodation fees were paid.  

However, one day I asked her about the meal arrangement and I was surprised by her response.  She casually replied to my question that it was not her problems to worry about the expense.  She did not even look up from her smartphone while saying ‘Je ne sais pas.’  There was no hint of gratitude, but only the sense of entitlement on her arrogant profile.  This Turkish doctor must have imagined a friend in Mme. Landlord, just like I was fooled for many months.  He may have felt vulnerable in the face of religious discrimination in the world that Mme. Landlord’s sweet words felt like music.  In my case, I had been weakened by the restaurant from Hell and thus I was ripe for the easy exploitation by She the hyena. 

However, I was not angry.  Sad and disappointed, but not angry because being a bad judge of character was my fault at my age.  I preferred to move forwards.  Besides fate dealt me a kind hand for a change and had one Italian couple in the neighborhood offer their apartment when they learnt that I was looking for one.  They had also been disillusioned by Mme. Landlord and somehow chose to trust me.  Their apartment was in the same building that I first hesitated because I had had enough of Mme. Landlord and the restaurant from Hell.  However, the one decisive factor was that I would not need to report the change of address to the French Government.  In order to extend my visa, continuity was considered important.  I had not yet studied the Baroque French history as I had initially planned to do.  At that time my wrist was still fine, thus I hoped to become a graphic novelist in France.  Of course, there was no guarantee that I would have succeeded, but I would like to have a crack at it at least.  So, I accepted the offer of the Italian couple and gave one month notice to Mme. Landlord. 

I had expected rage, but her concern was whether I would continue to fight Mr. Pride.  She blurted out that she needed the restaurant to be driven out from the building so that the former financial value of the property would be recovered.  In order to fight Mr. Pride, a lawyer was needed.  Now the readers of my blog would remember that I have been paying all the legal expenses because I believed in fighting the evil that had victimized the neighbors.  I was the only one who could not speak French well, thus I was the weakest useless link.  I believed Mme. Landlord was genuinely sympathising with my ordeal and her crying face compelled me that I should step up and bring in a French speaking lawyer.  Everything appealed to my Japanese sense of obligation.  

Did she con me?  I would not know, but by this time a new piece of information had reached my lawyer.  Mme. Landlord had once been engaged in a legal battle with another commercial neighbor, but the all the expenses were paid by this one wealthy French neighbor.  His lawyer won the case, and the compensation was paid out, even to Mme. Landlord who had not paid any legal expenses.  That she did not decline the money that should have been paid to this wealthy French man revealed a lot about her.  

I replied to her that I no longer wished to fight Mr. Pride now that I have purchased the advanced insulation materials from Japan.  She put on her distressed face again and pleaded me to continue engaging my lawyer so that other neighbors, notably her, did not have to pay a cent to combat the restaurant from Hell.  I was not fooled again, so I refused.  Then her sweet face distorted into a dark vulgar face as she hissed.  ‘No amount of insulation from Japan would work.  You will still suffer!’  She wished me to suffer while she insulted the advanced technology of Japan too.  Luckily, a young man passed by and Mme. Landlord quickly put back on her lady face.  As she greeted the young man with a sugar voice, I escaped.  But remembering how tedious and persistent she was in pursuing Jupiter for money she did not deserve, I knew it was not over. 

The only small consolation was that Mme. Landlord does not discriminate French nor non-French when it comes to parasite-ing.  To be continued.

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