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The true horror stories in modern Paris part 62

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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 black