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

Thursday, 22 February 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 62

Two weeks had passed since I sent out the letter pleading the other landlords to take note of the blatant disregard of other people by Mr. Pride.  He would not even comply with the repeated requests by the Syndic to share the type of machines he was allowing his tenant Mme. Empathy to install beneath the residential floor.  Of course, Mme. Empathy would exceed the limit permitted by the authority.  The limit had been set to prevent excess emission of electromagnetic and law frequency noises, both hazardous to the health of the residents living nearby, but Mr. Pride did not care because he did not live on the premises himself.  He would not be exposed to the toxic elements.  What did he care that his tenants tortured the residents with a loud disco music in a quiet historic street?  He himself lived quietly away from the restaurant from Hell.  What did he care that his restaurant attracted seedy characters that exposed the residents’ lives in danger?  Mr. Pride turned deaf ears to every single plea of the residents, refusing to believe that his tenants ever acted inappropriately.  You would think anybody would oppose Mr. Pride.

However, not all landlords were inconvenienced by the restaurant from Hell.  For one, only three apartments were directly exposed to the noise from the restaurant.  Secondly, most landlords did not live on the premises.  Therefore, Mr. Pride safely bet that his threat of compensation, if his business was disrupted, would convince the majority of the landlords to forsake me in my suffering rather than paying a hefty compensation money to Mr. Pride.  In fact one old wealthy business woman did not even bother to reply.  Mr. Brave, the partner in crime of Mr. Pride held a large number of votes.  One old rich man even pressed Mme. Landlord to accept the condition of Mr. Pride.  I was seeing the reality of dark side of human nature.

However, the first ray of sunshine came from America, the new land.  There was one American owner and he defied the compensation threat of Mr. Pride and gave his proxy to Mme. Landlord.  Never was I more grateful of the gutsy hero in American men.

The old land, Europe was not to be dismissed for a youngish French man also sent us his proxy.  It surprised me because this youngish French man had seemed cool and indifferent, but inside he was a stark contrast to the rich old man with a pleasant manner but of a cold heart.  More from Europe were two Italian gentlemen who spoke out against Mr. Pride and sent their proxy to Mme. Landlord.  One of them even came to visit me on the day before the general assembly to wish me good lucks.  He wanted to see the face of the writer of the heart wrenching letter.  I had not gone out to be melodramatic, but simply writing down the fact was enough.  The votes of more supporters continued to flow in.

Finally at the general Assembly, Mr. Pride and Mr. Brave both looked pleased with themselves, convinced that they were about to crush Mme. Landlord.  That Asian woman (me) never mattered to them.  However, my dear Mme. Landlord quietly laid out numerous proxies on the table.  To be continued.

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Saturday, 10 February 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 61


Mr. Pride demanded (he never asks, he commands) that the next general assembly of the co-landlords be held one month earlier than usual to put an end to this ongoing  harassment of his tenant, Mme. Empathy the director of the restaurant from Hell.  Yes, he claimed (and still does to this date) that ‘the Asian woman is lying about her suffering and Mme. Landlord is wrong in wanting to protect her tenant.  The other landlords should not be influenced by the sentimental nonsense of my Mme. Landlord and landlords should vote with a sensitive mind.  The true victim is him, claimed Mr. Pride.

Mr. Proud Victim, his second name, planned well to sabotage Mme. Landlord’s votes by picking a date that coincided with her cancer treatment when she would be away from Paris.  You might ask why the Syndic accepted his request.  As a rich man Mr. Pride was one of the two big shareholders.  Unfortunately, this other big shareholder became his partner in crime.  I shall refer to this new character as Mr. Brave who had been hereto polite towards Mme. Landlord despite his seething chauvinism because everyone respected Mme. Landlord, the smart lady with a strong sense of justice who had long looked after the interest of the building in a fair manner.  Mr. Pride had the sense to see the importance of the large number of shares Mr. Brave possessed and proposed the latter a lucrative business.  Thus Mr. Brave and Mr. Pride became buddies.  Out came the true color of Mr. Brave who started to mock Mme. Landlord openly.  He slandered Mme. Landlord to be a trouble maker, not worthy of her noble reputation.

Poor Mme. Landlord was shattered as she had not been aware of the dark sentiment of Mr. Brave towards her.  Two men ganged up against this cancer patient, the true horror story in Paris.  The two men influenced the date of the general assembly with their large number of votes combined.  The Syndic was obliged to accept.  Our Mme. Landlord chose to take a break from her treatment to attend the meeting because Mr. Pride demanded the Syndic and the co-landlords to legalize his unauthorized machine on the building.  He could do it with the help of Mr. Brave who had revenge on his mind.  My suffering did not even enter Mr. Brave’s mind because I too was a woman.  I had thought that French men were fair and respective of women, so I inquired.  It turned out that he was only half French.  Not that it meant anything, but at this point I needed the French to be near perfect, worthy of the price I was paying to live in Paris. 

However, my questions about the nationality led to the fact that quite a number of the landlords were either Italian or Americans.  Mr. Pride and Mr. Brave did not fear them because they were all small shareholders.  Combined, they would pose a larger number of votes, but they spoke little French and they resided overseas.  Mme. Landlord could not reach them to ask for their power of attorney because of the language barriers.  She lamented her English was not good enough to explain this complicated situation to those non-French landlords.  Thus Mr. Pride and Mr. Brave disregarded the other landlords.  I, this Asian woman, was of course forgettable to them.  However, they overlooked the fact that I communicated in English and that I was also a Japanese woman with diligence.  Most of all, I am a genuine descendent of Samurai Warriors who accepts every battle, even a losing one, to have some learning values.  There is no medals given to join winnable battles.  In fact, my ancestor feared complacency after a win more than a loss because one often ends up losing more than the gain of a win in a long term.  I hope my ancestors were right about the reverse.

To be continued.

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Friday, 2 February 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 60

Mr. Pride has hereto ignored everyone refusing to hold a decent communication through the proper channel.  However, he cannot afford to do the same with the authority that had the power to shut down his business.  The part of the authority which even Mr. Honour had no power over was demanding Mr. Pride to remove his unauthorized machine on the roof, but without it his restaurant cannot operate.  Mr. Pride could apply for a permission, but the permission required that the consent of the Syndic and the other landlords, the very people Mr. Pride had been ignoring.  He had already tried boxing Mme. Landlord into accepting his business which she resisted despite her weak condition.  

He could not care less about my well-being, but he could see that there may be some bleeding heart who may care for this disposable Asian woman.  The reader of my blog may ask how would I know if he thought like that.  I do because he wrote in his letter to the Syndic that he had spent money fixing the noise problem of the restaurant. ‘ The woman who is still complaining (he meant me) about the noise is pretending to be a victim.  She should come back from wherever it is she is hiding so that the landlords of the building can make a sensible decision about accepting his restaurant business.’  If the noise problem had been solved why would I waste my money paying two rents?

To be continued.

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Saturday, 20 January 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 58

Up to this moment Mme. Empathy had snubbed me if we passed each other on the street.  Therefore I was stupefied by her smile.  I felt like a small rat stared down by a serpent.  With a pearly sweet voice she began.

‘There seems to be a misunderstanding between us.’  What a great phrase to evade  one’s faults or wrong doings. 

.‘…because you kept calling the police, I have paid a fortune fixing the problem.’  She took on a victim tone as if I was the mean trouble maker.

 ‘But we are neighbours and I do not want you to be distressed.’  An Oscar winning performance.  All my sufferings and the near death encounter, was it all just a dream?

 ‘…We can solve this among ourselves.  You need no lawsuit against the restaurant so long as the noise is removed, right?’  Here comes the logic and bargaining.  The thought of permanent silence lift the weight off my shoulder.   

Mme. Empathy was gaining ground on me, but I remembered to mention one point.   ‘Thank you, but I am still exposed to the noise of your machines every night.  I can’t say the noise is removed at this stage.’

The smile on Mme. Empathy froze.  Her eyes took on harsh colour.  Why was I feeling apologetic?  Probably from fear.  Mme. Empathy slipped back into a considerate smile.

‘I blame Mme. Landlord who has gotten you in this mess.  She does not even live here, but we do.  You and I should live harmoniously, but that woman has been giving you bad advice.  We don’t need her, you and I’

My God, Mme. Empathy was using a brainwashing technique practiced by cults.  First shifting blame on me, making me feel guilty and then severing emotional bond with my friends.  No wonder Natalie had fallen for this.  Mrs. Empathy was also a beautiful woman with a great body.  Men would stand no chance with her. 

By instinct I turned around and ran away.  The only way to save myself from brainwashing process was to physically remove myself from the situation.  To my horror, Mrs. Empathy came running after me too.  I picked up speed until I could run no more.  I did lose her in the end, but I was scared that she knew where I lived. 
However, that was the last time Mme. Empathy ever approached me.  My dear Mrs. Landlord was coming back from her cancer treatment.  She had escaped death and was ready to resume the battle with me.   I admit Mme. Empathy was way above my league, but Mme. Landlord was also formidable.  To be continued.

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Sunday, 14 January 2018

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 57

Mr. Honour was not amused.  His high status gave him the power to manipulate the lives of others, but at the same time it also put him under the scrutinizing eyes of his opponents, eager to expose him.   We are both impressed and suspicious of those who gained fame on the moral ground.  It is not as clear cut as making a great invention or discovery, or winning medals at the Olympics, etc.  Mr. Honour had won accolades for being the champion of the minority and yet he had hands in the life-or-death ordeal of an Asian woman.  Granted indirectly, but he knew his favourite Mme. Empathy had been convicted of running unregulated business before and yet he intervened so she could continue her dark ways. 

Now, I have no illusions that my life mattered as much as a rat floating along the river Seine to Mr. Honour or anybody for that matter, but his opponents may pretend to care.   Neither the police nor my lawyer had enough proofs to make a case against the restaurant for my first ordeal, but Mr Honour knew that if I sought sanction at the police again from electricity exposure, things may be different.  I would be able to report to the Japanese Embassy.   I cannot claim to know the thoughts of Mr. Honour, but only he could have persuaded Mme. Empathy to do redo her kitchen.   She finally contacted the architect employed by the Syndic of the building.  I happened to walk in when the architect was instructing her to insulate the kitchen ceiling too.  Would she finally come to do the right thing?

Weeks later I returned to check things out.  The vibration noise from the ventilation had significantly dropped, however, Mme. Empathy had not yet insulted her kitchen ceiling.  Other decent restaurants in Paris would either install their noisy machines in the basement, or rent or buy the first floor above the kitchen to protect their neighbours from the noise.   Of course, Mme. Empathy would install her kitchen on the ground floor directly under the residential apartments.   This meant I would continue to be exposed to the mechanical noise during the night.  The restaurant had ameliorated just enough so that Mr Honour would not be linked to my near death ordeal.  I could still perish from insomnia for all they cared, the restaurant from Hell.  

I was not her only casualties.  If you do not remember the American young man in the episode 48 who was beguiled by the pretty waitress Natalie into helping the restaurant, here is the link to that episode.  http://www.thethirdredapple.com/2017/11/the-bullied-takes-on-goliath-in-true_11.html
The young man thought the restaurant would respond to his kindness by being considerate to him who lived right above the client area.   No such luck.  Once he had done his part, the restaurant responded by turning up the volume of the stereo to the max every night that the floor shook literally for the poor man.  Our misled American hero shortly left the apartment he had loved and stayed for a long time.   I blamed Natalie for going along with the scheme of Mme. Empathy…until that day when Mme. Empathy approached me with a dazzling smile.   To be continued.
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Saturday, 30 December 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 55

My good FB friend made a valid comment last week.  I agree with him that I should not have made myself visible to the chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere, before the electrician arrived, but believe me I had it planned very differently.  Probably the first harsh lesson the expats have to learn is that ‘France does not give a rats about your plan.’  Perhaps I ought to have changed the title of this post to “pulling hair out until you go bald in Paris. 

My electrician had gone to a different address and despite the urgent nature of my predicament, he left without calling me on my mobile because he had misplaced my number.  The appointment was rescheduled after some difficulty but I knew it might all be for nothing because of what I witnessed while I waited for the electrician for his first visit that never took place.  I was watching the front door of our building from a distant when an ambulance siren was heard.  Then out came from the restaurant from Hell a man whose face had gone blue being carried out by the staff.  Mr. Sincere looked agitated as he knelt beside the man who was clearly unconscious.  It was still in March so they could not blame heat.  The ambulance pulled up.  I did not mention this incident in my last post because I do not have the full facts of what caused the man to pass out.  Was it something that the hospital would be obliged to contact the authority, I do not know.  However, I was not surprised when the electrician later found nothing in my apartment. 

It was not a total waste, the second visit of the electrician, because he discovered that our building lacked the earth tower to prevent a leakage of electricity related elements.  The architect of the restaurant would have known of this, but yet Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy continued to allow the installation of machines after machines while putting the health of everyone around at risk.  Mme. Landlord immediately contacted the Syndic, but even they could not organize the expense for the earth tower without the consent of the other landlords…which included Mr. Pride whose reaction would continue to stupefy us.  He would oppose it until his restaurant was given more advantage.  I was almost impressed that he could totally ignore my predicament.

So I had to continue my stay in this Airbnb room in Montmartre because the danger was recurring.  It was hardly fair, but valuable lessons can be found everywhere if one keeps an open mind.  Instead of living as a full time victim of the restaurant from Hell, I decided to make the most of my situation.  
To be continued.
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Friday, 22 December 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 54

The compassionate Major came out to meet me himself at the police station. French people are aptly described as ‘fire and ice.’   There are those with warm hearts and the others who can cut you off instantly.  I was most grateful to the warm words of this Major who was aghast by my predicament.  He gave me the name and contact address of his superior because things were getting out of his hands.  I went to seat myself on a bench but the major arranged to have a secured detention cell to protect me from the criminals and drug addicts.  I was given full privacy for the night.  The reality did not hit me until I smelt the unusual odour of the cell.  However, this was the only safe sanctuary in the whole Paris to me that night …while Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy each relaxed in their own fluffy bed: one was counting profit and one was planning another loud parties.

The following morning, as soon as a library opened I used their computer to book a room because my laptop was in my apartment.  After securing a room, I contacted Mme. Landlord who was horrified by the crisis.  She immediately complained to the Syndic who in turn would have informed Mr. Pride.  Did we hear anything from him?  Of course not.  In fact it was up to Mme. Landlord to book an electrician to check her apartment and it was again me who has to wait in my apartment to provide access because Mme. Landlord was not in Paris.

I opted to wait outside the building for the electrician...near the restaurant.  Then he came out.  The chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere.  He had come out for a smoke but when he saw me his eyes widened.  Now this was the man being criminally prosecuted for multi-frauds.  It took him a lot more serious accusation than a fraud to startle him.  He gave me an awkward smile and murmured ‘We will use more wood so that electricity does not go into your room.’  So Mr. Pride had contacted him to cover his track.  As you may imagine, 2 hours later when the electrician came…late which is usual in France, electricity leakage was no more.  The electrician found no fault with the system of Mme. Landlord, of course. 

There is a list of codes by which Samurai warriors lived by and one of them was ‘let the opponents cut your muscle so that they would come close enough for you to clash their bones.’  I guess, the last several months of my suffering was the process of letting the restaurant cut my muscles.  Now, in order to cover their track, the restaurant was forced to re-install their ventilator in the regulated way.  To ensure this I wrote a letter to the superior of the Major as advised.   I knew I still had a long way to go.

To be continued.
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Friday, 8 December 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 52

The machines in the restaurant below were pounding louder than usual around me as if I were inside the dark kitchen crawling.  Usually I would have taken a glass of wine to numb my hearing against the noise, but that night I had not had any.  In hindsight I did not trust that chef from Hell, Mr. Sincere, after all.  It was not until several months later that we discovered the criminal charges pressed against him by many victims.  However, Mme. Empathy and Mr. Justice would naturally feign not to have known about his recklessness which saw me in this fatal situation.

My palm and the back of my feet felt the sting at every contact with the floor that was buzzing with some sort of electricity.  Somehow I reached for my shoes, opened the door and I crawled up the stairs.  It was still cold at night, Paris in March, but my body was burning.  I collapsed near the second floor gasping to breathe, but I sensed that I had escaped the danger.  Three hours passed while the fever and nausea slowly subsided.  One did not have to be a doctor to know that it was not illness that caused those symptoms.  I stood up and went down the stairs, not to my apartment which was now a death trap, but out the building to the street.  I looked into the restaurant from its big façade windows.  All the machines were plugged on, some emitting eerie red light, some ominously blue light.  It was not rage I felt.  Only depair that people like them are in power in the real world.  But it was no time to stop to lament for I had to find a spot of soil quickly.

As soon as I found one I removed my shoes and stood on the earth barefoot to release the electromagnetic toxins that had been charged by the restaurant.  My body still felt numb and my head felt heavy and disconnected, the symptoms I had read on the related sites.  This self-earthling method was recommended and 10 minutes later, my head started to clear.  My senses returned and then I felt chill of the cold early hours of Paris.  I must return to the death trap to get my clothes.  I looked up and saw Notre Dame Cathedral in a distance.  I remembered the article on this butcher who lived on Rue Chanoinesse near Notre Dame Cathedral luring all those unsuspecting couples who came to wed in Paris.  It was later discovered that human flesh were being sold at this cursed meat shop.  For the details, please read my episode 19 at 
I would not blame you if you thought that my imagination was running wild, but the dark spirit has revived in the form of the restaurant from Hell, or so it felt that night.  The chef who supervised the installation of more electric appliances, two of them attached right beneath my floor, were being sued by many newly wedded couples.  Coincidence, naturally, but still a heck of coincidence.  I did not know about his criminal charges that fatal night, but I knew my accidental death would have pleased some people.  Was I destined to follow the trails of the victims of the cannibal butcher’s spirit behind the Notre Dame Cathedral? 

No.  I was still alive.  I had grabbed a bottle of secret potion that I had made in a big quantity when I left my contaminated apartment.  This helped enormously, no doubt.  Where were my ancestors when the flesh eating butcher was alive and well in the middle age?  I am a genuine descendent of a Samurai warrior.  The long sword was not for just defeating our enemies, but it was for cutting through the dark force.  Do I believe it?  I assure you I do not.  But I still had to act and I headed for my apartment above the restaurant from Hell, literally. 

To be continued.

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Saturday, 2 December 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 51

I recognized Mr. Sincere as the man I had seen wandering into the residential area of the building for the last couple of days.  There was a regulation that forbids people from the commercial area from wondering into the private residential area.  Not only Mme. Empathy did not discipline her staff, she was the one who regularly opened the door.  This annoyed my Mme. Landlord because she was respective of rules and courtesy.  She asked Mr. Pride to admonish his tenant Mme. Empathy, but of course, he ignored Mme. Landlord consistently.  The Syndic and Mme. Landlord instructed me to take photos of the restaurant staffs illegally entering the private area, which I hated to do.  I was worn down by the noise and compared to my suffering, it seemed such a trivial issue.  However, Mme. Landlord was my friend so I took some photos, but I did not send the ones that pictured Mr. Sincere.

Don’t get me wrong.  I did not fall for his charm.  I was hoping against hope that he may be the one who would finally do the right thing by me in relation to the noise issue.  Therefore, I did not wish to antagonize him by turning him in.  But what I did not know back then was that Mme. Landlord’s storage area had been broken in and her son’s computer related goods were stolen.  Mme. Landlord was furious because she shared her storage area with Mr. Pride and the restaurant.

Mr. Sincere initiated some work which removed the strong vibration which used to push me back to the other wall.  (Such was a hell Mr Pride had exposed me to and he simply shrug his shoulder.)  But the noise remained loud so when Mr. Sincere wished to check the situation in my room, I let him in to hear it.  He looked around my studio and spotted a tiny bedding in my kitchen.  He shook his head in sympathy, or so it seemed.   In hindsight, his eyes remained cold.

A couple of days later I heard the drilling noise followed by metal cutting noise coming from where else?  The restaurant from Hell.  It sounded eerie for some reasons, but I suppressed my natural instinct and tried to believe in Mr. Sincere.  I went to sleep inside the kitchen, my sole sanctuary in Paris,

It was about 02:00 am.  I woke up from a strong heartbeat.  It would not stop beating faster.  I heard a buzzing beam and realized that all the electric appliances in my studio was reacting to something.  Strong nausea came over me as my mobile phone emitted buzzing noise as if it was electrified.  Yes!  Some kind of electricity was leaking into my sanctuary.  I felt stinging sensation all over my face and a throbbing headache.  I tried to escape but my entire studio was flooded with something that everywhere I touched I felt the stinging electricity.  My body would not move well from fever, but I knew if I did not get out the apartment right away I may not see another day.

To be continued.
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Saturday, 25 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 50

Any serious managers would be concerned by empty seats in their restaurant, but not Mme. Empathy.  She was never into running a decent restaurant.  There is a record of her summon to the court following a big petition signed by her former neighbors whose lives had been wrecked by her irresponsible management of her last restaurant. But it did not hurt her one bit because in Paris you can always sell the restaurant permit and make a huge profit.  Therefore, it was essential for Mme. Empathy to invest as little as possible.  One of it was installing a cooking ventilator without insulating hood (which you would find in any normal restaurant kitchen).  It damaged my health, but what did she care?  Mme. Empathy was counting the huge profit she would make by selling the permit to a sucker.  Sure her reputation follows her everywhere, but she just needs to apply under someone else’s name and partners in crimes she has no shortage of.

However, her brother, I shall refer to him as Mr. Justice hereafter, reminded Mme. Empathy that she would have nothing to sell should this Asian upstairs win her lawsuit.  Surely, Mr. Honor, her big protector, would help her out, but wearing down this nuisance upstairs should be the top priority.  In fact, Mr. Justice had already chosen to play a delaying tactics by not replying to the court.  Of course if he did not reply for too long, the court would annul the restaurant permit without trial, so he would reply in 6~8 months or so.  In the meantime, a lot of things could happen.

Indeed, their delaying tactics was wearing me down as they planned.  One eye was twitching and I had lost the sense of the tip of my tongue.  Things fell out of my hand easily because I could not completely escape the hell ventilator noise.  I did not sleep well inside my small kitchen even with lots of plugs staffed in my ears to avoid the all night noise from the kitchen appliances in the restaurant below.  My head felt heavy all the time that I could not function well.  But it could have been worse had I not taken this traditional anti-toxin potion passed down in Japan.  Mr. Pride knew about my suffering but he could not care less.  That I was not meekly bowing to his demands was far more unacceptable.  The team Restaurant from Hell decided to up their game. 

Then appeared this man in our courtyard.  I still remember that day in March when Mme. Landlord asked who he was.  He came to replace the previous chef (who had quitted claiming that Mme. Empathy was a snake).  He smiled sincerely at both of us, promising to make things better for me.  Instinct told me to fear him but I was so worn down that I wished to believe this man whom I shall refer to as Mr. Sincere.  To be continued.
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Saturday, 18 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 49

I froze at the sight of she-devil. Then I noticed a man with her. He looked like a tradesman. I sensed that he had come to measure the opening on their roof. She smiled mockingly at me and started giving instructions to the man. Sense of helpless defeat came over me as I watched Natalie prancing around the apartment of the Italian gentleman without his permission. I looked around the old walls which was once a church. I am not a Catholic, but still I respect the history those walls have witnessed. It seemed sacrilegious that Mr. Pride would allow Mme. Empathy to gouge this once house of prayer. I quietly apologized for being powerless to stop those people. Oddly I felt better, but it must have been my wishful thinking…or was it?

The following morning, I saw the entire street was closed off for a complete overhaul of electricity cables. No trucks would be able to drive into this narrow street. The truck that would have been loaded with Mme. Empathy’s gigantic glass roof could not drive into the street either. Seeing that it gave same time to my dear Mme. Landlord and I, we opted to contact the Italian gentleman. Mme. Landlord had not been able to communicate with him because he could not speak French well. However, he spoke English and this is where I came in. Thank you, Australia, for having taught me English. I am in debt to this large island nation more than I had ever realized. My voice shook while addressing the man I had never met, but the Italian gentleman was understanding.

Within two days the tenants were warned never to allow Mme. Empathy’s people pass through the Italian Gentleman’s apartment or he would kick them out. Mme. Empathy’s plan was foiled. Not only that, the overhaul work in the street would continue for a month and half, digging, drilling, blasting stone road from morning to evenings, driving any potential clients from Mrs. Empathy’s restaurant. Who would want to have lunch at the work sight? Though I was being driven out by the restaurant’s kitchen noise anyway, I was still glad that I could escape the even more hellish noise while the restaurant’s staffs and the chef could not go anywhere.
KARMA, my lawyer commented. To be continued. にほんブログ村 英語ブログ 英語の日記(英語のみ)へ
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Saturday, 11 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 48

Those who read my last blog would have seen a rough dessin of the buildings.  You might remember that there was another window across from mine.  It was owned by an Italian gentleman who had opposed the installation of the glass roof which would have transmitted more noise.  He naturally refused to give Mme. Empathy the access to install the glass roof through his windows and he instructed his tenants not to either.

However, Mme. Empathy noticed the current tenant of the Italian gentleman was a young man, half French, half American.  ‘Oh, this should be a breeze.’  She turned to a beautiful French girl whom she had recently hired.  I shall call her Natalie.  Mme. Empathy whispered into Natalie’s ear wearing a mischievous smile.  The young girl was thrilled to sink that miserable Japanese woman down further into the mud.  Not that I had done Natalie anything to deserve this.  She was simply excited by an evil joy of manipulating someone else’s life. 

Now I mentioned the young man was half American not just because they are susceptible to French minx, but American men have that desire to be a hero, a virtue which Natalie made a good use of.  Later I learnt from this young man that she had visited him frequently and he felt obliged to help her.  He looked at me as if I was the predator obstructing the path of an honest restaurant.  ‘They have toned down on their music lately.  They deserved a chance.’  Now, the restaurant had toned down on the music thanks to my routine calls to the police.  But looking into his love-struck eyes, I said no more.  Thus it came to him breaking his promise to the landlord, the Italian gentleman.  The shining knight gave the restaurant the access from his window to install a glass roof.

But I did not know this when Mme. Empathy glared through my window.
To be continued.
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Sunday, 5 November 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 47

No one should be physically looking into my window as I lived on the second floor, so I had to stifle my scream with my hand when those cold eyes looked into my room.  However, Mme. Empathy was not a ghost and I should show you where she was standing on.

I have indicated the noise of the restaurant in red.  Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy had left the dotted part of their roof uncovered (there was only a plastic shield over it from keeping the rain out) because they wanted to install a glass roof there.  However, the landlords of the buildings had rejected it at the general assembly because it would allow more noise through than regular roofing materials.  As my readers you would know by now that Mr. Pride and Mme. Empathy would not respect the wishes of the others, so they lied to Mr. Honour that their idea had been resoundingly agreed upon.  Mr. Honour urged the authority to grant the permission to build in a glass roof to the protected historical building.  (My clever Mme. Landlord has obtained the record of this)

Therefore Mme. Empathy was adamant to have her glass roof and she had two accesses to her roof.  One was climbing over up her other roof and landing on her lower roof, but that was costly.  The other option was to access through my window and that is where she is standing in the picture above.  This option had an extra benefit.  Had I given them the access, Mr. Pride could have manipulate it and put it on Mrs. Landlord through me.  ‘You gave us the access through your tenant.  Therefore, you have endorsed the permission to install the glass roof on behalf of the other landlords too.’  My lawyer had warned me against this, so I repeatedly refused despite the several emails from Mr. Pride. 

He offered not a single apology for the suffering he and his tenants were causing  me.  Not once.  He repeatedly demanded that I gave him the access.  He even threatened me with a lie that ‘it was how things are done in France of which you are ignorant of.’  Now, I would not expect empathy from this money obsessed man who was not exactly a French himself either, but I had expected him to have some logic.  Why would I agree to something that would make my dire situation worse?  I could see that his wealth had been made by his sensible father, not by him.


Mme. Empathy was being pressed by this Major from the police department, who had a justice bone in him, to seal the large gap on her roof to mitigate my suffering.  She was not going to yield, not Mme. Empathy.  So she created a third option.  To be continued.

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Sunday, 29 October 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 46

I was told that in Paris if a restaurant got caught more than 3 times for breaking the regulations of public health the authority would suspend the restaurant for one month.  Well, the police had already caught Mme. Empathy 5 times ignoring one regulations that the health of the public must be protected by ceasing to emit noise after 22:30.  However, the restaurant from Hell was still open.  The police would have reported her case to the authority, but oddly the report was being ignored.  This was the period when I saw a man with the air of self-assurance dining at the restaurant and Mme. Empathy was serving him herself.  In hindsight, he may have been Mr. Honour, or someone with a remarkable resemblance.

Therefore, I was not totally surprised when my lawyer delivered a daunting news that my lawsuit was not progressing due to the lack of response from Mme. Empathy’s side.  Normally the first trial would happen within 3 months of the date it was launched.  My ordeal should have been over, but the restaurant from Hell opted to wear me down over a long period of time with their unlawful noise and vibration and music.  My lawyer could not help me.  Besides he had more important clients to attend to.  So I had to battle alone in Paris where one has to fight for one's right.

I prepared myself for a long siege.  First I would not stay in my apartment all day to be exposed to their onslaught.  Paris had many wonderful libraries with WIFI to do my translation work.  I would return home at 22:00, make a phone call to the police as a part of my daily routine.  My kitchen had been fortified with insulation materials, my dear mini dungeon.  Lucky that I was a Japanese for we are used to small limited space.

But most important of all, I must not be angry.  No.  That would not be wise thing to do in a long term siege.  I knew I was being dealt an unfair card, but being angry would deprive me of energy which I would need to sustain the long battle.  Durability was my only weapon which had any hope of piercing one weakness the Goliath had.  The people in power have no patience.  They may have had at some point to get there, but the success would have robbed them off this virtue.  Things must fall their ways immediately, or they would lose their cool.

By now the police remembered me and would send their men out instantly to the restaurant.  It is amazing how a human can adapt him or herself even in the hell on earth.    Then one day, I looked towards my window and saw Mme. Empathy standing there.

To be continued.
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Saturday, 21 October 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 45

A week later, Mme. Empathy was in a foul mood.  ‘That Japanese imp called the police for 5 nights straight!  I thought she didn’t speak French!’  It was so embarrassing seeing those policemen calling the party off in her restaurant.  Most clients blamed the caller, but there were some who complained that they did not get their money worth.  They would not return and that hurt.  It was easy to fool young policemen with her smile.  ‘But officers, we are in the process of resolving the problem.  Please, give us time.’  Of course, she had no intention to spend a centime to solve the problem, but with her victim act she managed to send policemen away. 

However, there was this older major who was not fooled.  He had been moved by the tone of this Japanese caller, so desperate and vulnerable.  The situation had to be dire if someone with such a limited French would have to call every night.  He did a research and soon discovered that Mme. Empathy had been sentenced to pay the fine for her irresponsible management of another restaurant.  The major may have taken it as a mockery to the authority of the French police that Mme. Empathy would again open another restaurant just 2 minutes away.  She had nothing to fear because she was protected by Mr. Honour, the man who vows to fight against discrimination but is not above PISTON or nepotism.

After the policemen broke up another party, Mme. Empathy was defiant.  She told the guests that the party would go on and turned on the music again.  She smirked imagining the Japanese bug, distressed at the prospect of another long sleepless night.  That bug needs to be taught not to mess with the grand dame that was Mme. Empathy.   However…

‘Madame!’  The policemen barked as they returned 10 minutes later because they had not yet returned to the station.  Mme. Empathy could not believe that I called the police twice in the same night.

The French neighbors had not called the police because they believed that the restaurant would not last long, but also the French tend to leave the dirty work to the others.  But I am a Japanese woman who was raised to be the rock behind her men.  Submissive, but diligent, meticulous and finally, patient.

To be continued.

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Saturday, 14 October 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 44

What is not widely known is that there is in fact a regulation that forbids all the restaurants in Paris to make noise after 22:30.  However, the authority will force it only if a resident of the building places a call to the police.  Therefore, it is one regulation that is defunct because most tenants do not know this.  Hell, even I did not know this until so informed by Mme. Landlord.  Then what about the owner-residents, you may ask.  After the arrival of AIRBNB, the landlords now prefer to lend their apartments out for a big profit while they move to the suburbs.  They do not care if their tenants suffer any noise.  There will always be unsuspecting tenants applying for apartments in Paris.  Their cold attitude hardened even more by the system of AIRBNB. 

Therefore, it fell on me to call the police because the tenants on the same floors had already left.  Their landlords did not knock the rent down like my landlord.  She was a rare gem.  Mme. Landlord would call the police herself, but she did not live in the building.  So with a shaking hand I dialed 17, the police.  The message was given in French and English.  Relieved, I opted for English.  However, the person who took the call blatantly lied to me that ‘Paris never sleeps’ and hang up.  He thought I was a tourist.  So, I tried again in French which was not good yet.  The woman who took my call had no patient and hang up.  I thought I heard a jeering laughter of Mme. Empathy as the music blasted on filling up my apartment along with the extractor vibrating noise.  I had to cower back to the small corner of my kitchen and cried.  

The following day, I rehearsed my lines over and over.  I called the police for the third time and a young man answered.  He tried to pull one over me, but I insisted in French that it was against the rule to be noisy after 22:30.  I live in Paris, I added.  He uttered, 'Ah' and transferred me to the police station of the appropriate district.   A sympathetic major answered my call and he took the address of the restaurant from HELL.  He also took down my phone number and promised to send his men.  After the call, I waited without much hope.

Then it happened.  30 minutes later, all the noise stopped, the ventilator and the music.  Well, not all because I could hear a hysterical voice of a woman.  Mme. Empathy?  Or her new waitress?  Whoever.  The police in Paris had taken my call seriously and stopped the devil…for the night.  I would have to place several more calls before the police would intervene on a larger scale.  Still, the battle was on.  

Saturday, 7 October 2017

The bullied takes on Goliath in the true horror stories in modern Paris part 43

There was an electricity bill placed on the table between Mme. Empathy and a man, her patron.  The bill was of course was not in her name.  Would she ever pay anything herself?  Her Patron was worried if she was making profit to justify all her expenses.  Mme. Empathy turned on her radiant smile, ‘Party season has arrived.’ 

Did she tell her patron that she had her ventilator running all day at the maximum noise level to blow out ‘that Japanese bug living upstairs’ from the building?  Whatever.  It did the restaurant no good as the chef and staffs were seen hanging around outside the restaurant to escape the noise and heat themselves.  Not a sign of a good restaurant and it drove away potential clients.  A good new restaurant would take off after a month in Paris where elegant gourmets are forever in search of new gastronomical delights.  It was clearly not happening for Mme. Empathy’s restaurant. 

She suddenly noticed a small figure in the street.  Mme. Empathy saw me coming back from Vienna and raised one eyebrow visible to a woman chef nearby.  ‘Is that the neighour taking you to the court?  She does not seem such a strong woman.’  Mme. Empathy span around and spat out.  ‘It’s her old landlord who’s putting her up to it.  That Japanese woman is just stupid!’  I remember her look darted at me across the street, but I was not offended knowing she thought everyone stupid.  Besides, everyone did fall for her lies and little schemes, even Mr. Honour, the protector of integrity.  Mme. Empathy could not have been just a pretty face.

The noise attack from the restaurant became shorter but still damaging enough to shred my nerves all over again.  However, I had to stay home to keep records of the hours and level of the noises until the police came to intervene.  Every day made me sicker than the day before…it seemed forever until my lawyer rang.  The police would finally come to measure the noise level in my apartment.  It was scheduled at 10:00 at night.  Two police men came in regular clothes so that the restaurant would not be alerted.  The verdict was delivered swift.  The device of the police found my place to be inhabitable.  It was not me being fragile, or oversensitive.  Mme. Empathy and Mr. Pride were truly running ‘the restaurant from Hell’ in Paris.  However, with the police report submitted to the court, my active counter attack began.  To be continued.

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Saturday, 23 September 2017

The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 40, the bullied takes on Goliath

It started out as another lovely afternoon for Mme. Empathy who had thoroughly enjoyed last night’s party.  It was also fun giving a brush off to her former Asian chef who came to complain that his recipe was still featuring in the menu of her restaurant without a due credit to him.  She could not take it off because it was the dish that earned a good review from a food critic whom she had charmed.  What could the chef do?  He was too poor to sue.

She went into the restaurant to give a job interview to a girl.  She had fired the young waiter when a raise was due.  They are replaceable to Mme. Empathy.  The trial waiter/waitress are the best kind because they try hard to impress…and don’t forget the cheap pay.  Did she feel remorse?  Of course not.  Who did he think he was to criticize her when he had willingly participated in her scheme?  He flirted with the women tenants of the building so that they would not complain of the music or the kitchen noise to their landlords for two months.  The landlords could cause her serious problems before the restaurant’s permit was solidified.  He shared a good laugh with Mme. Empathy over a dumbfounded look on one of the besotted woman after he told her that he was in a serious relationship with another girl.  This is why Mme. Empathy loved having young folks around.  They think it is so cool to be on top of the others by foul means…only they never imagine of themselves being on the receiving end.  Trust me, they will eventually.

No sympathy was due for that duped woman either.  She first came to complain the noise but the waiter flirted with her.  How stupid could she be to actually fall for that?  Did she think she was that attractive?  She obviously did for she kept coming to the restaurant every evening looking expectantly.  Mme. Empathy was tired of serving free drinks to this stalking woman tenant.  Again, this woman tenant had no rights to reproach anyone when she had betrayed the solidarity of victims of the restaurant.  Mme. Empathy had a contemptuous smile on her when the phone rang.  It was her brother, the legal owner of the restaurant while Mr. Pride was the landlord.  The news was incredulous.  A lawsuit had been filed against the restaurant 2 days before the 2 months expiry date.  ‘I thought you had everything under control!’  The brother raised his voice.  ‘Damn!’ uttered Mme. Empathy.  It was so right firing that useless waiter who had failed to seduce that imp Japanese woman!


To be continued.
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Sunday, 17 September 2017

The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 39

I came to with foggy mind with spasm in one eyelid, but it could have been worse.  My blood pressure which the restaurant had pushed a skyrocket high, was somewhat under control thanks to this potion its recipe is known among Japanese, or at least passed down among my family.  I chose to make it regularly when I embarked on this losing battle against the big money, Mr. Pride, and the queen of manipulation, Mme. Empathy.  They would have liked me to shrivel up like a dead insect and disappear, taking Mme. Landlord down with me, but I was not going to make it that easy for the enemies.  I could practice acupuncture on my own which helped putting my daily disrupted system back to some what normal.  Thus, Mme. Empathy looked puzzled when I walked past her restaurant appearing to be calm.  The truth is I was staggering but I was holding myself together with a sheer mind power.  She still needed to receive the writ of my lawsuit and my lawyer had advised me not to raise any suspicion in her mind lest she refuses to receive.

But there was another reason I had to escape my apartment.  Some long-time readers of my blog would recall a woman named Leila in the earlier episodes of True Horror Stories in Pairs series.  Introduced in my episode 7, she was a disturbed woman who held grudge against all the Parisians who would not befriend her.  She took her frustration out on the previous tenant of my apartment by repeatedly harassing the aged old man.  He barely escaped but an anonymous letter was posted to her as a warning that her malicious, bordering on murderous, intention was in fact noted.  Leila turned her toxic eyes on me, but could not touch me for a while.  Until one day she found me staggering out of my apartment and discovered that I was living in a hellish environment.  She sensed my newly developed weakness, worn down by this sound hypersensitivity.  Since then her tenacious midnight washing started and it tormented my senses already tattered by the restaurant during the day and evening.  I was fighting two evils, Leila and the restaurant from Hell.

The long-time readers would remember that Leila was removed from my life after my small act of kindness to a stranger.  My voice was slightly shaking from excess stress because Mme. Empathy held another blasting loud music party night.  Notwithstanding, I mastered up my sense of obligation to provide help when asked for it.  A poetic justice was delivered and Leila and her toxic fiancé was gone.  The restaurant from the Hell however was too strong.  The authority was on their side because of Mme. Empathy’s connection.  My lawyer assured me that the judicial system is still safe from corruption calls PISTON in French.  Hoping against hope, I accessed the internet site of the post office.  A green big check appeared on the scene.  The writ of my lawsuit had finally been accepted officially by someone from the restaurant.

To be continued 

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Saturday, 26 August 2017

The true horror stories in modern Paris Part 37

With the departure of the Asian chef, the last ounce of conscious left the restaurant.  New replacement chefs, there were a few of them as not one lasted long under Mme. Empathy’s management, they would all set the ventilator at the maximum strength convinced that a due insulation had been applied.  Of course, it would not occur to Mme. Empathy to correct their error.  So I was exposed to both the high and low frequency noise, the latter which rocked my wall and furniture.  While the high frequency noise would offend our hearing, the low frequency noise would penetrate our skin and grab our internal organs to shake it relentlessly.  The shaking furniture showed me what was happening inside me. 

Ironically, it was a French researcher who first discovered the damage of low frequency noise, yet it is the citizens of other nations, Germany for one, that are protected by the regulations.  While the human ears eventually would get used to the high frequency noise, the low frequency noise would be accumulated inside our system and the symptoms would appear after months, making it difficult to pinpoint the cause.  In my case I was exposed to the intense level that I developed the symptoms after only 2 months: insomnia, dizziness, stiff shoulder and neck muscle and finally numbness of hands that I frequently started to drop things.  All the articles on low frequency noise suffers’ syndrome say it would lead to depression and a few years later…suicide.  Thus its alternative name is ‘Silent Killer.’  I booked a room elsewhere to escape after the two months period was up.  (Please, read the part 25 that explains the importance of two months)

It seemed forever, but it was finally two days away from the two months expiry date.  I had submitted the noise diary, the hours and the level, to my lawyer.  By this time, my sense had weaken so much that even church bells could punch me in between my lungs.  In fact any noise could jerk my body.  There was no rest inside my brain…and yet it happened.  The shrieking drilling noise penetrated my floor from the restaurant.  Mme. Empathy had decided to install a giant electric appliance for which she did not receive permission from the authority.  I thought it had been a hell, but the rock bottom was yet to come.   

To be continued.
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