Showing posts with label neighbors from hell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbors from hell. Show all posts

Sunday, 16 February 2020

The end that I had dared not hope has really happened to the true horror stories in Modern Paris part 119

This world is not a fair place, justice is but a fragment of our wishful imagination.  However, it may not be quite the Hell after all.  The restaurant from Hell that nearly silenced me physically has finally fallen.

I thought they would get away with it with all their cheating and utter contempt for the everyday living of their neighbors.  They thought they would not need local clients for there would be plenty of gullible tourists they could rip off.  They billed their food as 'fresh food straight from the market' yet I saw boxes of powdered potatoes delivered into their kitchen early in the morning before tourists would see.  The managers personally knew many famous food critics.  Praising reviews adorned the entry door, but the neighbors knew they were fake because the praising reviews appeared too soon after the opening of the restaurant.  A respectable critic like Michelin would wait nearly one year to see if the chef could constantly maintain the high standard expected of Michelin. 

However, it may be this excess promotion that brought upon their doom.  The taxation office may have expected the restaurant to have generated some big profit if the great reviews on the walls were anything to go by.  In reality, the restaurants remained fairly empty aside of those occasional loud all night parties organized by the managers themselves.  It is quite possible that their tax return was genuinely low, but the taxation office would not buy it because the restaurant had successfully made the place appear 'happening'.  Also the restaurant was suspected of exploiting their chefs, many of them colored.  There were too many of them coming in and out like yoyo and their working hours was too long.  However, their last head chef was a French man thus he may have become a whistle-blower of the appalling condition. 

Whatever the reasons may have been, the curtain fell on Mme. Harmonie, the woman who haughtily told me to live with my windows closed instead of insulating her restaurant to contain the noise.  She condemned me to the life without fresh air but her attitude bit her in the end.  She would be in red after paying many months of expensive rent during which her restaurant was forced to close by the authority.  Now I have learnt that the landlord of the restaurant has gotten a new tenant.  

To my surprise, I did not feel joy.  Of course, I am relieved but that is all because it was not just the restaurant that robbed me.  Mme. Landlord who turned out to be a greedy leech, not just to me and even to the buyer of her apartment was a huge disappointment.  My former lawyer was only pretending to be a Japanese and I discovered that he was over charging me.  I got some money back when I confronted him with proofs, but I did not want to launch a lawsuit against a lawyer.  It would be too immature to cry that `they took an advantage of my trust', but they both were ruthless people who took an advantage of my weakened state.  So, you see, the world is full of villains and I cannot afford to invest my emotions let alone waste my time on revenge because my life is not long enough for it.  Besides the God is more genius than men when it comes to revenge (or everything) that it is better to leave it to Him. 

As I look into the deserted restaurant, I remember the night I was almost electrocuted by Mme. Empathy, the creator of the restaurant from Hell.  Without the self preserving knowledge passed down from my Samurai ancestors, I would not have lived to tell this story.  My former lawyer could not (or would not?) persecute Mme. Empathy for her crime and she got away by selling the hellish creation to Mme. Harmonie.  For all I know karma has not caught up with Mme. Empathy.  I told you this world is not a paradise and I have paid out of my pocket to insulate my apartment which I will not get compensation unless I file another lawsuit.  It may sound naïve but one needs to grow out of being a victim without the intervention of the predator if one wishes to claim 'pride' in the real sense of the word.  You will not earn respect of the world if you receive hand out, even in the form of compensation unless you are a child or were a child at the time.

My decision to leave the landlord of the restaurant alone has led to an unexpected effect.  My neighbors, French and Italians have shown me their support in the midst of Corona virus crisis when the discrimination against the Asians heightens in Europe.  Now this is priceless and I am glad that I am a person who can appreciate the value of things other than money.  I am all about moving forwards and pray that the new tenant of the restaurant will be law abiding.  We'll see if he/she will be honest enough to take down the endorsement stickers from the wall until they have genuinely earned the credit. 

Whether the true horror story in the modern Paris continues or the new happier chapter begins, it remains to be seen.

Thursday, 26 December 2019

Unexpected Christmas gift from the true horror stories in Modern Paris part 118

Today's gift is the reassurance that Karma may exist after all.  It has been a long time since my last update, but our restaurant from Hell, its operation has been suspended for months.  

It is not yet closed down because their noisy refrigerators and freezers were left switched on.  I know it because I can still hear the dreadful mechanical noise if I move part of my insulation material a little.  The bloody restaurant had installed a gigantic refrigerator which the authority would have prohibited on the ground that it was not proportional to the size of the kitchen.  Also such a modern refrigerator was not suited to an old building made of rock walls because the old rock walls transfer noise more efficiently than cement walls.  The regulations were meant to protect the living standard of the neighbors surrounding the restaurants, but of course, our bloody restaurant manager could not care less about their neighbors and the monstrous refrigerator was installed.  Their friend in the high place made sure that no surprise inspections would take place and that any inconvenient report to the authority against them would be crushed.

However, there is one authority almost always reliable to be mightier than any other authorities: Taxation office.  The rumor has it that the taxation office is onto our restaurant from Hell.  I am not at all surprised having witnessed their cheating behaviors.  It may have started with small things such as serving their clients powdered potato under the claim of being a fresh market food restaurant.  I know this because boxes of Knorr dried mush potatoes were seen delivered early in the mornings…before the tourists arrived.  The list went on that I nearly lost my faith in the code of my ancestors.

One of the codes revered among the ancient warriors in Japan is '…letting the enemy gain all that he or she desires'.  It is based on the doctrine that we human are not capable of wishing what is good for us.  In life, we tend to indulge ourselves if things go our way.  Thus I ceased fighting the restaurant and opted to pay for all the insulation materials out of my own pocket.  My intention was to stay and prevent other unsuspecting French tenants to be trapped in this apartment above the restaurant from Hell, but my silence still served the bloody restaurant well.  Too well that it may have accelerated their cheating attitude.  They still must pay rent for the venue even during the forced suspension months and their fake good reviews will lose their validity after so many months of non-operation.   The  restaurant will still reopen someday, hopefully as a law abiding institution instead of Hell, but definitely under a new management.  

Karma caught up with the old cheating management in the end, reaffirming my faith in good after a long three years.  I lost a lot of money in the meantime but It rendered me a forged resident of Paris.  Many people ask me if I have lived here for decades, thus it cannot be my wishful imagination.

Merry Christmas.

Sunday, 28 July 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 117

It's been three weeks since I last updated my blog.  I had again temporarily lost mobility of my wrist, the one that got damaged by Mme. Landlord who overworked me by making me clean and paint her apartment without a heater during the cold month of February while she was warming herself in her other heated apartment.  It was a blatant abuse of immigrants' labour by the self-acclaimed protector of the weak, but I needed to learn the lesson of life the hard way. 

Enough about myself.  I promised to an author Mr. Meade to give updates on the characters of my true horror stories in this modern Paris.  The restaurant from Hell went all out to deceive potential clients.  Each time some honest reviewer wrote a negative comment about their rip-off price for their stingy portion, the chef would bribe a young French with a free meal for a good review.  I once saw a girl chatting friendly with the chef inside the courtyard.  Shortly 5 stars review appeared on a social media with her photo.  Thus tourists and some French who are looking for a new place continued to get sucked in.  Nevertheless, the restaurant is never full because the neighbours would not dine there, not after being blasted with a loud music continuously until midnight.  This tactics backfired though as the restaurant kept losing their chefs who must have been exhausted by the long hours. 

However I find myself without zeal to write about the misfortune of the characters from the restaurant now that I know that they had ignored my written pleas about my physical suffering caused by the restaurant because they knew that I was under the influence of Mme. Landlord.  Mr. Pride and the other landlords all knew that Mme. Landlord would lie and exaggerate her suffering and thus I was suspected of fabricating my suffering under the instruction of Mme. Landlord.  In hindsight she forbid me to insulate my floor which would have mitigated my nausea and sickness because she needed to use my physical suffering as a big humane excuse to drive out Mr. Pride's restaurant.  Later it was revealed that she wanted to recover the value of her apartment which had been devalued by the opening of the restaurant.  My readers would have read about the hell that broke out after I disobeyed her.  She tried to drum up the residents to impeach me, which failed because they had already gotten to know me.

Never the one to be discouraged, Mme. Landlord turned to the new woman buyer of her apartment and fed her with the lies and scandals about me.  Mme. Landlord accompanied the new buyer…I shall call her Mme. May because that is when we first met, with the purpose to abet the young couple Mme. May and her husband to…God knows what she wanted, but she had this odd habit of announcing her move in advance in emails.  She had announced to the residents that she was going to correct all the wrong in the building for the sake of Mme. May.  So I had prepared all the written documents to counteract her lies and practiced my poor French phrases.  However, the God was on my side because Mrs. May had worked in America and thus spoke English fluently.  So I quickly explained the situation in English (thank you, Australia, you taught me well) and the obvious relief on her face was uplifting.  Mme. Landlord screamed ordering me to speak in French but Mme. May and I, we both ignored her and we bonded.  We are going to meet again on a cup of tea soon. 

Horror stems from many thing, but in my case it was my naïve bleeding heart.  In hindsight I refused to recognize some signs that old Mme. Landlord was a user because it was easier to hope that my patience with her ways would soften her avarice.  My damaged wrist is a stark reminder of my weakness which I must combat.  Some people may say that suing her for compensation would be the right revenge.  Yes, logically.  But if a person grows by overcoming the misfortune or troubles, then accepting money from the culprit would leave the person as the same weakling as before.  Being a weak fool is not a virtue.  In my case I have lost a lot through associating with Mme. Landlord, financially and physically, but only through earning back the loss through my merit I would be able to deem myself to have grown and overcome the hardship. 

In the meantime, Oh, the injured pride of Mme. Landlord upon realizing that her plan to humiliate me had failed.  I have at least gained the right to stand on the higher ground and look down on her.  This feels surprising good enough while I note that facial expression of Mme. Landlord has become both sheepish and vulgar.  What a face to show to the Lord when her time has come to return to Him.  But of course, she is an atheist so it would not have mattered to her.  I see religious people as trouble makers stirring up division among people.  God has been used to shield man's ulterior agenda for centuries.  Here in Paris I have witnessed the snobbery of one religion, the violence of one other religion, the victim game of one other religion and even the manipulation of one other religion.  And yet having no religion risks a weak soul like mine to turn into a self-acclaimed God as in the case of Mme. Landlord.  I need a religion to keep a check on my soul and attitude which is what the religion was initially set up for.  It is the people who have changed the good religions into self-serving cults.  Then only through keeping my religion absolutely private and secret may protect me from corruption.

So at the end of my long true horror stories in the modern Paris, I found myself bruised but in the place I had least expected.  I have chosen one faith.  This takes care of my soul and as for my career, I have learnt to use my left wrist to lessen the burden on my damaged right wrist.  NEC of Japan has launched a laptop whose keyboards offer 'light as feather touch.  I will resume my translation work with this new device.  And as for my dream to publish a book through a publisher, well this one is gone forever because my wrist will no longer cope with drawing many graphic novel pages at a time.  However, I have discovered that a few pages of graphic novel can be uploaded onto YouTube.  This will allow me to write at my slow pace and the potential readers will not have to pay money to see my work.  It would give me a sense of purpose if my graphic novel earned some clicks even though it is extremely difficult to earn living through clicks.

The last four years, Paris has thrown so many things at me without intermittence that I did not have time to sit down to draw a single page of graphic novel.  It may have been waste of time or life?   Yes and No because my plot will be more realistic after all this.  This post concludes this section of my True Horror stories.  Will Paris provide me with more 'True Horror'?  I wait with apprehension because this beautiful but cruel Dame will most likely do so.

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Monday, 8 April 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 109

My mother has been staying with me, thus I am late updating my blog.  I have a lot to make up to her after my poor judge of characters led to Mme. Landlord’s ruining my mother’s short stay in Paris last year.  We both thought my mother would never be strong enough to travel to France from Japan, but Mme. Landlord’s malice woke up the fighting spirit within my mother that her health actually turned for the better.  Voila, one year later she withstood the long flight back to Paris. This time she is staying longer as that dragon Mme. Landlord has left the building.  My injured wrist will never regain its former strength, the result of the abusive labor demanded by Mme. Landlord, but it has healed to the point that I can somehow live normally.  The obsessed woman may still wander back into the garbage room, I'm sure, but still the dark cloud has been lifted.  Those challenging characters may have been put on the earth to serve others in an unusual way.  

You may then ask ‘Even the restaurant from Hell, that is still acting a menace to the neighborhood by mocking every regulation possible to break, has its purpose?  Yes, and I say this not because the restaurant from Hell has finally started getting bad reviews…from the real French clients (not friends or acquaintances) accusing deception in the quality of their wine and passable food which does not merit its high price tabs.  The lesson here was not about a mere 'karma for bad guys getting what they deserve'.  I can’t speak for the other residents who are exposed to the hellish music of the restaurant, but to me the long trying experience may have been to cure one big flaw of mine--the bleeding heart.  While it sounds kind, the bleeding heart is not a virtue at all.  It is a denial of the real responsibility while trying to look a saint about it.  They often take the God as their hostage to gloss over their coward acts.  In my case, I have not yet picked a religion, thus I have never hidden behind the God, but I must say that all my life I have been sympathetic towards the minorities of any sort.  I was always a sucker for soliciting pleas and god knows how many people have taken advantages of my disposition. 

And yet I have been such a snob telling myself 'it is nobler to be a duped than becoming a deceiver'…until four years in Paris has smashed some sense through my thick skull that the acts of bleeding heart is similar to some parents who over spoil their children, a sinister kind of child abuse.  It helps the so-called underdogs turn into monsters who mock honest hard works but agile in swindling from others.  If you have been reading my true horror episodes in Paris, you would know that I have fallen prey to variety of them on so many levels.  I now regard with bitterness the young people who defend the victims against anyone.  It will be decades before she or he would realize that she/he had been used by the victim businesses. 

So for my readers who must have been puzzled as to why I did not opt for revenge against the people behind the restaurant from Hell, this was the reason.  I had been in a long round about way responsible in festering the mentality of victim business.  I was made to confront the result of my smug bleeding heart after refusing to acknowledge it for a loooong time.  This realization will save me from falling for wrong companions in the future.  Unlike some women with gold-digging heart, I have always fallen for losers with a helpless demeanor.  An angel must have watched over me because something always happened that put those problematic men far away from me just before they could sink their fangs into my life, but the guardian angel must have decided that I should not get myself into further troubles and thus taught me a big hard lesson because even women could take an advantage of me.  The recent example being Mme. Landlord, a seemingly harmless old woman.

My newly gained concept has pushed me towards solitude, but I was not allowed this because I still needed to rely on tradesmen to install phonic insulation onto my walls and the floor to combat the noise travelling up from the restaurant from Hell.  My landlord has given me the permission as long as I paid for it, but he offered through the agent to freshen up the old kitchen and bathroom too so long as I would oversee the work to make sure the cost was contained within his budget.  This sounded great until it put me into the direct contact with the tradesmen.  I would not use the term Horror stories, but those vultures, sought their potential prey in me.  My guardian angel was not done with me with her lessons and thus a new chapter begins in my True Horror Stories in modern Paris.

To be continued.

PVアクセスランキング にほんブログ村

Monday, 25 March 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 108

A weird thing happened two weeks ago.  Mme. Landlord who had sold her apartment was seen wondering in the garbage room of the building.  Of course, I nearly screamed.  What is it with this woman and her obsession with the garbage?  I have heard that the French people are not big on cleanness, but this still felt extreme.  It gave me a shudder when she looked at me and smiled a little, as if she had run into an old friend.  This was the woman who sent an abusive slander about me to everyone in the building last month.  What did she expect from me?

I returned her greeting politely but coldly and walked past her without slowing down.  No more the usual and well-known Japanese warm smile.  I am a traditional Japanese woman who would tolerate condescension, selfishness, impoliteness, what have you, for a very long time, but once we have burnt the bridge, you do not exist to us.  I am not morally above revenge, but mere breathing of the same air with the disappointing person makes me sick that renders me incapable of revenge.  I prefer to leave it up to the God or the fate.

As I closed my door on her I sensed she was bordering on Alzheimer’s disease…and loneliness.  Now that I know Mme. Landlord is a pathological liar, all her talks about having a great relationship with her family may have been all sham.  Why else would Mme Landlord not have more important thing to do other than checking up the garbage room of the building that she no longer lived nor owned an apartment?  She would have made a mother-in-law from Hell that no wife in her right mind could tolerate her officiousness.  Looking back when I moved into this building every tenant described Mme. Landlord as a heartless witch.  If it had not been for the restaurant from Hell, I would have seen her through a lot sooner.  Her loneliness is due to her own doings thus she deserves no sympathy.  Ironically it may have been easier for her had I opted for a revenge because it would have put me in contact with Mme. Landlord.  It would have dissipated her loneliness. 

Instead, Mme. Landlord is deluded by her vain hope that she may still financially benefit from my submissiveness.  I did not opt for a revenge thus I must be still pliable, she believes.  She has even written to me that ‘she still believes that I do not mean to revel against her.’  I had a hunch that this greedy demented woman would keep showing up in the building like a wondering ghost hoping to ignite my former generosity towards her.  

She did indeed return for the second time last week, checking every nook of the building she could access.  And yes, we came across each other in front of my door.  She smiled again while I kept a stone face and ignored her again because she does not exist any more.  At my every rejection the greedy woman will feel her thirst un-quenched and burn by the amount of benefit she believes she should enjoy but have missed out.  It is the worst kind of Hell for an avaricious soul like hers and I did not lift a finger to create it.  She walked herself into it.  She may hope that I would buckle one day.  Never underestimate the resolve of the Japanese, particularly the samurai descendants, no matter how easy it was to push us around initially.

I was going to write about this man who also underestimated the Japanese, a son of the immigrant family who is a French by nationality.  Initially he was behaving with caution when dealing with the Japanese men, but then he saw me.  The years that he had spent in Japan has taught him that the Japanese women are demure and pliable.  I was single and living in Paris alone.  His true color came out.  
To be continued.
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Friday, 8 February 2019

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 104

I was making a move back from Japan to Paris last week-end thus I could not update my blog.  Today I am going to make it up by writing a fairly long post.

As always the writer Christopher left a sage comment on my last post 103 that ‘compensation junkie’ would be stopped one day.  That is very likely on an individual level and the family level.  Even the company taken over by compensation junkies may be stopped albeit it will be more difficult.  However, when the plague spread nationwide…the history tells us it has happened a number of time, other nations will seize the opportunity to invade a self-weaken nation whose people have lost the will to endeavor.  Why would you want to be industrious when a bunch of social moochers are fed free while increasing your burden to support the system?  As a history buff, I read books and articles and found several traits that were common among those compensation junkies:

1)     They bend to the powerhouse like USA or the Great China.  However, to the less threatening people or nations, they become condescending and painfully discriminating.
2)     They would not fight their own battles.  They prefer to abet the powerhouse or whoever that would buy into their victim elaboration to do the dirty jobs.
3)     No respect for women.  Human trafficking by her own father was rife at a time in the history.  Far from fighting to protect their own women, they used women as their currency against the invaders.
4)     Very thin skin.  Over every trivial point their manly but fragile pride is wounded, followed by of course more compensation demands.
5)     In order to conceal the fact that they never took time to work on anything diligently they would claim that their inventions got stolen.
6)     Their own talent would die without ever being tapped in.  It is so much easier to rob the credits from others.

The last trait may be the saddest thing because the world will never know of some beautiful gifts the God has given to the mankind.  I may not be much gifted despite the kind encouragement by the author Chris who likes his book cover that I drew (He is a polite man) but, I wish to spend time on my drawing instead of pursuing Mr. Pride for compensation.  Also I have my mother to look after.  Focusing on her happiness is a much productive way to spend our limited time.  

And…there is Karma.

Nothing gives us more satisfaction than seeing the jerks get their upcommance, but it does not always come in the form of a visible punishment.  The other type of upcommance is ‘to miss out on a bigger profit’.  For instance, our Mr. Pride will get to keep his restaurant from Hell and will not be hit with my compensation claim.  Apart from all the reasons I gave you, the last reason is Mr. Pride's attitude.  His lawyer  insists that the noise test conducted by an huissier that I had to employ was rigged, reflecting his own attitude.  Mr. Pride and Mr. Honour have conspired with the authority to rig their reports.  The young man in charge delayed the noise test for many months until February, the quietest month for any restaurant, on a snowing night when there was no clients, thus no cooking.  I am actually more angry with this officer than Mr. Pride.  Anyway, it would have taken a long time if had I sued Mr. Pride for compensation.  I don't need it in my life.  I prefer to earn money back myself while economizing my expenses.

However, what Mr. Pride does not know is that I knew of a Japanese investment developer who was looking for a venue to set up a very famous restaurant that served the Imperial family in Japan.  If Mr. Pride had dreamt of owning a Michelin starred establishment, this would have been it.  Japanese chefs are darling of Michelin that Tokyo boasts far more Michelin restaurants than most other metropolitan cities in the world.    I also knew of a popular Japanese patisserie who wished to open a salon in Paris.  Even this lesser option would have been much more successful than the current restaurant from Hell.  Either of the two options would have brought ‘prestige’ to Mr. Pride.   Would I make any recommendations?

As one of the top reviewers of one famous food site, I respect chefs.  I give a good review to the restaurants where chefs are treated well because it would lead to a truly good food.  The infrastructure of Mr. Pride’s kitchen that is inconsiderate to their neighbors is not kind to the chefs who are forced to work in the kitchen from Hell either.   So Mr. Pride missed out on this golden opportunity and as the fate would have it, the developer has recently started building a super stylish venue to house this traditional Japanese institution that has stood the test of time for over hundred years in the quartier not so far from our restaurant from Hell.

I live above a Hell, but this is also the best seat to watch how this will all unfold.  Paris is intriguing indeed after all.  I nearly was killed off in an electricity accident staged by the restaurant from Hell, but the last few years in Paris has been the most intense period of my life.

To be continued.

Monday, 21 January 2019

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.

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.

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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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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Sunday, 22 July 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 80

I am not above revenge, but it is necessary to take a realistic approach to it, considering the time and effort one must invest in the process.  Probably the most common motive would be the desire to make your enemy regret his or her past conducts, which may be possible if the enemy was an individual, but not if you fell prey to a collective perpetrator.  There is less fear with breaking laws together with one’s partners in crime.  There is no guilt in forsaking a human being in a long physically pain if you can blame someone else for the choice.  The characters involved in the restaurant from Hell (Mr. Pride, Mme. Empathy, Mme. Harmony, Mr. Brave) have stomped all over their neighbors for nearly 18 months and still have slept well at night because it is a typical lynch mentality.  The notion of regret will never come to them.  Thus, I must treat this like an accident just like the time a couple of Colombian men robbed money from me through threat.  Sure, I felt sick at the time, but it passed and the same will happen with the restaurant from Hell too.

Or will it?  The encounter was brief and one-off with the criminals, but I had already been exposed to the restaurant from Hell for more than one year when the Syndic contacted me about Mr. Pride’s new demand.  The restaurant needed to access my apartment to fix a leak on their low roof.  Normally I would be more than happy to oblige, but Mme. Harmonie had just told me to live with my windows closed forever.  She flatly refused to insulate her kitchen ceiling unlike many other decent restaurant owners in Paris.  And now she was sending workers into my studio through the Syndic so she did not need to say ‘please’ to me.  Pouring oil onto fire was another email sent by her partner demanding that I must cooperate for the comfort of the clients of the restaurant.  Comfort?!  I had been robbed of good night sleep for 12 months at this point.  In the end I would cooperate, but I could not roll over and accept the tyranny immediately.  So, I denied them access.

I was feeling lousy about myself when my phone rang.  I missed it, so I dialed 666 to retrieve the message.  I was on the busy street when I heard a woman’s message in French.  I did not catch each word, but it was Mme. Harmonie.  Under the situation I thought she was repeating the same demand on me directly.  The action I took following this call, made me realize that my soul had begun to be affected by the dark side.  I do not recommend revenge because longer you are exposed to the darkness, higher the risk of joining the dark side.  This has to be the most tragic thing that could happen to you, but a long stress will weaken your defense eventually.  To be continued.

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Tuesday, 8 May 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 72

Before I go into the thing that touched my finger in my scary hours, I would like to revisit the dawn that followed the nightmare.

The sky of Paris looked gray white.  The crazy howling had finally subsided.  With the heavy sleepless head I went downstairs not knowing what to expect.  I looked into the restaurant glass façade.  Oddly, the floor had been cleaned.  Very much puzzled, I returned to the building.  Something told me to look into the residential garbage area.  I gasped.  It was filled with hundreds of empty drink bottles and mountain of litters.  Mr. Pride had promised that his staff would take their litters out to the nearest commercial garbage station.  Like many other his promises, this was hardly observed.  Now it was up to the residents, like me, to clean up the mess because the employed cleaner would refuse to do more than what was in the contract. 

I noticed a design on a large cake box.  Was it for a religion or a cult, I did not know, and that is not important.  What I knew was that religions teach you to consider other people, while cults use God to justify their agenda.  Stomp dancing all night on the ground floor of a residential building is certainly inconsiderate. Their chorus-turn-howling sounded as if they enjoyed inconveniencing the residents as if it proves how far they have come conquering the world.  Oh, they still need us, the inferior existence, to clean up their mess.  This disturbed me because I had come from the country where religion stays private and is never used as an excuse to avoid taking responsibilities for one’s actions.  Not never, I must admit, because cults do exist in Japan too, but such demands for religious tolerance is virtually unheard of in Japan because if you cause troubles to the society, it will reflect on your personality, not the religion you hide behind when it suits you.  This view may not be accepted in the other parts of the world, but I am pretty sure that using a religion to push one’s agenda is the sure way to become unpopular.

Sadly, some people do not care for other people’s feelings.  Mr. Pride does not even care for other people’s health, so focused on making profits.  Mrs. Harmonie, likewise, takes it for granted the sacrifice from the others, willfully condemning me into the life without fresh air.  Mr. Justice believes in power of politic more than showing empathy when it counts.  Of course these type of characters exist in Japan too, but the Japanese society has the right to denounce them for their attitudes, whilst in France, these characters claim to be victims on the ground of their religion when denied of their my utter surprise.   I remembered how my neighbours were afraid to make complaints to the restaurant from Hell.  The best they could do was to throw some water in.  I finally understood the reason.

As I stood in the dark collider counting the numbers of the discarded glass bins, I noticed the stinking odour.  It was coming from the door that led to the basement.  To be continued.
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Sunday, 29 April 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 71

You may wonder why I still retain the title ‘The bullied takes on Goliath’ after Mr. Honour went out of the picture.  Well…I learnt from this grim experience that Goliath does not exist on its own.  It may even have been made to turn into one by the sycophants surrounding the former honorable man. 

The man who walked into the restaurant was Mr. Justice, brother of Mme. Empathy.  My readers would remember that they sold this restaurant pending 2 lawsuits without a full explanation.  It was a text book case of property frauds and yet Mr. Justice had the nerve to show up with a smile to meet his prey, Mme. Harmonie.  How is that possible?  I screamed inside me.  

In need of some explanation that would make sense I searched the internet.  The discovery was even more incredible.  Mr. Justice worked as a humanitarian.  He denounced Mme. Le Pen for racial discrimination, but this was the man who let his sister build the chamber of horror where I, an Asian woman, was fried above the restaurant cooking ventilation.  This is the man who let his sister terrorize her neighbours at two restaurants and more from what I heard making many French neighours sick day and night.  And yet he smiled in the photo like an icon of justice and benevolence.  Scary part was that he really seemed to believe it himself.  Talk about selective memory…

And where did Mme. Harmonie fit into this equation?  I soon found out.  One night I heard a chorus from below that gradually turned into howling.  Then my apartment started to shake.  The whole building shook from what I learnt later from stomping that continued all night.  I was not annoyed, I was scared.  Usually my curiosity would beckon me to find out what was happening, but instinct told me to stay away from what was obviously a ritual of some kind.  As I listened to their primitive shouts, getting louder each time, I could not help but remember the dark souls of the butchers who lived near Notre Dame Cathedral praying on the tourists to consume their flesh.  Their shops are no more and there is a police station, but their souls that could not have been accepted into the heaven may have found a new hang out.

Nonsense, I tried calming myself.  But I sadly remembered that Mme. Harmonie knew that I suffered from the thin ceiling of the restaurant.  And yet she allowed this thunder like gathering to happen.  No, she probably did not even remember that I existed.  I pictured herself dancing away merrily with Mr. Justice down stairs.  Outwardly she is a respected critique and he is a revered humanitarian.  The whole community of them, protected by Mr. Honour, the Goliath.  I choked on the cursed vapour invading into my apartment.  I felt sick to the core.  I was falling down the abyss of human souls that is essentially evil.  I searched for something to grab at frantically. 

Then it touched my finger.  To be continued.
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Monday, 23 April 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 70

Mme. Harmonie was not beautiful.  But Scarlet O’Hara she was not either.  But the two women shared the look of determination, not letting anyone get in her way.  Mme. Harmonie derived her power from her occupation which was critique.  It would have made more sense if she had been a food critique, but no.   She decided to have a restaurant on side to lean back on.  A very condescending attitude to get into any business, especially the food industry.  It is much more than providing food, drinks and a fake smile promoting ‘honest artisan experience’.  There are number of reasons why there are so few restaurants are awarded Michelin Stars. 

I have come to notice that Michelin Star awarded restaurants, they mostly rent or own the floor above their restaurants so as not to annoy their neigbours.  Their kitchens with commercial size machines are kept down in the basement to protect the clients and the neighbours from electromagnetic, low frequency noise and all other health hazards.  Of course it is all costly infrastructure that requires professional integrity to observe.  What do I know but it seems a wonderful coincidence that Michelin has awarded the restaurants with CONSCIENCE, not just the taste.

Mme. Harmonie soon blasted us with all night dance bar with a disco beat music.  Had she bothered to obtain the costly bar license?  No, there is not yet a sticker of blue and red opal on the façade of her restaurant.  As for my plea to insulate her ceiling, Mme. Harmonie insisted to believe Mr. Pride’s lies that it had been done so already.  She insisted that it was all in my mind.  ‘Don’t jump to judge us just because the former manager was bad.  We’re totally new team!’  
You cannot win with a person who criticizes but takes none from others.

At least with Mme. Empathy, her trademark which was sex appeal was real.  Mme Harmonie billed herself as a friendly down to earth person with little interest to frivolous fashion.  It is a tactic often employed by average looking women in order to appear to have more substance than beautiful women.  We already know she is so kind that she does not give a rat that I am stuck in life where her restaurant does not allow me to open my windows to let the fresh air.   In a nutshell, while Mme. Empathy manipulated people with the asset she truly possessed, Mme. Harmonie deceived with an asset she did not possess when it mattered.

Totally new team, Mme. Harmonie said.  However, I saw a few waiters who used to work for Mme. Empathy.  The main chef was new, but the assistant chef was still the same guy.  I remembered this guy with bitterness because he was the one who kept breaking the regulations.  Chefs were prohibited to wander into the private court of the residents, but he kept puffing the cigarette there with insolence look.  This lack of self-discipline may have been the reason he was never promoted to the main chef, despite there had been 4 or 5 main chefs under 11 months since the opening of this restaurant from Hell.

But it was the man walking into the restaurant with this mediocre chef that stupefied me.  To be continued.

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Sunday, 15 April 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 69

Mme. Landlord creased her face and spat ‘Do not expect this tenant to reciprocate decency.  She is from the lowest end of the society!’  Now I do not claim to know much about the society in France, but I had been surprised that Mme. Harmonie allowed her team to do renovation work over 4 weekends in row in this respective area of Paris where sensible people refrain from doing washing on Sundays.   Even Mme. Empathy left us in peace on Sundays to show some class.  

Nevertheless I still had to pin hope on her because the sales of the restaurant to Mme. Harmonie practically rendered my lawsuit against the restaurant invalid.  All the deception to the authority was committed by the former restaurant owner, not the new one.  Even the name of their lawyer was withdrawn from the online noticeboards of the court cases because there would be no meaningful verdict now.  

The plus side of this, however, was that Mr. Honour, the biggest Goliath, was gone with Mme. Empathy.  It was a humongous relief.  Sure it was his misplaced sympathy in his friend that put the restaurant from Hell beneath my floor, but it was also his influence that forced Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy to do the right thing, though partially.  I was rescued from the death chamber of noise and leaked electricity.  Now it was up to Mme. Harmonie to insulate her ceiling.  She had called out to the landlords that she would like to come to favorable agreement, had she not?

It turned out what Mme. Harmonie really meant was ‘favorable to her only.’  She walked into my room and closed the window and told Mme. Landlord that I should keep my windows closed all the time if the restaurant noise bothered me.  Mme. Landlord hit back, ‘People have the right to enjoy fresh air from the opened windows in this part of Paris, though it may be different from where you are from!’  I gasped that a restaurant owner who serve food to the public should have little regards to the well-being of others.  Also the decisively superior attitude of Mme. Landlord made me wonder how she really saw me and her gay tenant in her mind.  I was to find out several months later.

Back to Mme. Harmonie.  She turned to me all of sudden in English demanded that I admit that the noise of the kitchen did not bother me.  Now, she came in the morning when there was no clients in the restaurant.  There was only one chef and he was standing still in front the cooking table.  It would be different once the guests came in and the chef and his assistant chef would be rushing around the kitchen, opening and bang closing the refrigerator.  As I tried to explain this I saw a crafty grin on Mme. Harmonie.  She knew all these but trying to feed her words into my mouth.  I said ‘it would be different at later hours.’  Mme. Harmonie was adamant to trap me.  ‘But are you annoyed by the noise now?’  Seeing that she was not going to let up, I had to resort to shake my head slightly.  It was ‘no’, but I gave her no words to quote me later.   She was taken back in silence.

During the conversation pursued between Mme. Landlord and Mme. Harmonie, it was revealed the new owner of the restaurant had not been informed of the unauthorized ventilation pipe by neither Mr. Pride nor Mme. Empathy.  Mme. Harmonie had been deceived, but she was no way a victim by nature.   
To be continued.
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Saturday, 24 March 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 66

No more sugar sweet voice, Mme. Empathy bared her fangs at Mr. Pride.  ‘I and my brother (Mr. Justice) will sue you for compensation for failing us.  My patrons invested into the renovation and machines of the restaurant based on the 10 years guarantee you signed.  However, you failed to silence that nagging Mme. Landlord at the last assembly general.  You said you had intimidated the Syndic so that he would yield to your demand!  But we cannot forever ignore the lawsuit against us by that Jap or Chinese, oh, whatever!’

I had seen the scary side of Mme. Empathy which could send shiver down the spine of anybody, even Mr. Pride, the man who sniggered at the physical ordeal of an Asian woman.  Despite that, I could still see his points that she was to be blamed for not having played by the book which led to my lawsuit.  He was also a victim of Mme. Empathy because if it were not for her silver tongue, he may not have purchased this defective property equipped with an extractor pipe installed illegally by the former owner without the consent of the Syndic.  In fact this was the main issue of my lawsuit.  My lawyers saw that my physical suffering would not carry much weight in the court (wow!), but the illegality of the pipe may.  This is why the otherwise confident Mme. Empathy was rattled.

She softened her expression and cajoled Mr. Pride.  Oh I have seen that transition a few times myself.  Mme. Empathy purred ‘But we can get out of this if you follow my plan.  I will find some sucker to buy my machines off me.  You just keep your mouth shut about the pending lawsuits and I will not need to sue you.’  My lawyer did not think this was possible as any sensible buyers would check the status of the restaurant permit.  The prospective buyers would soon see the records of the pending lawsuit and would stay away from the trouble.  No problems as Mme. Empathy would choose her preys wisely.  Would her protector or my Goliath give her time she needed to run?  Would there be another prey added to Mme. Empathy’s trail of victims? 

To be continued. 
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Friday, 9 March 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 64

I wish I could tell you that I stared back at Mr. Pride and Mr. Brave like a cool heroine in the film.  I am sorry but this is a true story that happened to a real ordinary woman, slightly modified to conceal the true identity of the characters.  Fear gripped me when I saw Mr. Brave’s cold reproachful eyes.  I was supposed to have shriveled and fried by the killer ventilation of the restaurant he had designed 7 months ago.  His eyes said ‘Surely the electricity leakage 2 months ago would have finished this stupid Asian?’  However, I noticed he was standing slightly behind another man.  This was the moment I named him Mr. Brave in my mind.

Another man was of course, Mr. Pride.  I instantly turned my face away, but still caught a glimpse of his expression.  He looked like a boy who feared his mother’s wrath at home for his failure.  My guess is that he was afraid of losing the faith of Mme. Empathy, the gorgeous femme fatale.  She would be furious that Mr. Pride failed to gain a permanent right to fix his ventilation extractor on the building.  All it remained was for my lawyer to claim at the tribunal that her restaurant lacked the essential infrastructure.  It would annul her restaurant permit…in the ideal world, but this is Paris.    

I should have had my first hearing a few months after the launching of my lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell.  However, the restaurant of which permit was granted with the recommendation of Mr. Honour (this document, my lawyer has the copy) was not summoned to the trial 5 months on at this point.  I had a bad feeling that my first hearing would be further delayed.  What would the restaurant do in the meantime? 

I did not have to wait long for the answer.  The loud music blasted.  This time I was not the only victim because the restaurant left their façade open.  The hellish beats hit the hereto quiet street, all day all night.  In a way I understood.  The majority of the co-landlords had just rejected the restaurant.  Mme. Empathy would want a revenge, but I could not believe it.  She was much shrewder than that.  I also noticed that she was seen in the restaurant less and less.  The blasting music was played by the chef with the criminal records.  He did not know how persistent I could be calling the police to stop the music, but I had another idea.  Why not let him blast the neighborhood so the neighbors would know the consequence of letting the restaurant from Hell be?   

I decided to spend summer months in Japan.  As I had anticipated, the chef tortured the neighbours day and night during my absence.  Some exasperated resident threw water into the restaurant, or so I heard.  Finally, several people filed complaints to the authority.  It was no longer my one-man battle.  My health recovered in Japan.  My Samurai ancestors would have approved because there was no shame in escaping in order to recover from the wound so long as one returned to fight later.  By September I longed to resume the fight.  This may be the true addiction of the bewitching Paris.   To be continued.

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Saturday, 3 March 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 63

The reaction of Mr. Pride, I must rely on Mme. Landlord’s recount of the assembly general.  The chairman of the Syndic was initially hesitant to accept the proxies entrusted to Mme. Landlord because most likely his position had been threatened by Mr. Pride and Mr. Brave.  However, upon realizing that the total number of Mme. Landlord’s proxies surpassed that of our opponents, albeit by just mere 17 votes, the Syndic must have felt liberated.  Our proxies were accepted.  Mme. Landlord could read no reaction on Mr. Pride’s face, but that is the sign of stupefaction.  People can react swiftly to small inconveniences, but my experience tells me that huge crisis stun people into delayed reaction.

However, Mr. Pride was accompanied by his lawyer who immediately started defending him.  From what I heard the lawyer was monopolizing the assembly general, so it would not do the truth justice by boiling it down to one sentence.  Nevertheless I was only told that Mr. Pride’s lawyer defended his right to conduct business inside his properties and demanded the other landlords should refrain from being over sympathetic to Mme. Landlord and her tenant, in this case ‘me’.  This encouraged Mr. Pride into claiming that I was no longer feeling discomfort because he had reinstalled his ventilation the right way.  Now, I had anticipated him to ignore the fact that he had not yet insulated the ceiling of his properties, thus some residents were still exposed to the noise from his restaurant.  What made me gasp was that he decided what I should be feeling physically.  He dictates what others should feel or not.  Mr. Pride evidently places himself very highly in the universe.

Could I be sadden even more?  Yes, for Mr. Brave jumped in and insisted that I knew there was a restaurant beneath her studio, omitting the fact the restaurant’s permit had been denied by the right people when I moved in.  It was only afterwards that Mr. Honour, re-granted the permit to his favorite Mme. Empathy.  Mr. Brave went on to insist that I deserved the consequence.  Now this is from the man who was responsible for the lousy design of the restaurant from Hell.  Mr. Brave would have known exactly what suffering I went through:  Consistent palpation from continual beating of the wall shuttering noise.  I would grit my teeth for a while, but soon would I reach the limit that I had to jump into e hot shower constantly to rescue my body from extreme stress.  My eye lids would twitch and things would fall from my hands regularly.  You would think Mr. Brave could be sued, but he had covered his track by not signing any contract.  It was a black work with no evidence.  I have hit the jack pot of ‘beautiful souls’ in Paris, to whom I gave an aptly beautiful name respectively, but the cruelest of all was Mr. Brave because Mr. Pride was an amateur so he could not fully fathom the reality to which I was being subjected.

The party of small shareholders rejected the restaurant business to continue, but it was a victory for a short time because the lawyer of Mr. Pride immediately declared to proceed with a lawsuit against the Syndic and all other landlords.  Mr. Pride and Mr. Brave came out stone faced from the room but halted when they saw me standing in the corridor.  To be continued.

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