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Thhe true horror stories in modern Paris part 46

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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 be

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 45

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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 apartme

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 44

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Under the early morning sun, if felt like the fatal nightmare did not really happen.  But the machines in the restaurant were still there plugged on and the air in my apartment seemed heavy and dark.  I marched in and opened the windows.  It may at least release the electromagnet.  I quickly gathered things I would need to stay elsewhere and then contacted my lawyer.  My mobile was not working so I needed to rely on my fixed phone.  In Paris there is hardly a public phone around. Following the advice of my lawyer I made a booking at a hospital and arranged an electrician to check my apartment.  The police may be witness to excess noise but they would have no device to measure electricity flood.  Mr. Pride, Mme. Empathy and Mr. Justice would claim there may have been the failure of the electric system in my apartment.  I may have been inside my contaminated apartment for just 30 minutes, but already I started to feel the effect of the electric contamination.  By the time I reached

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 43

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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 s

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 42

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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

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 41

Mme. Empathy was furious when the police ordered her to insulate her ventilator because it she did not want to invest much into her business.  She was never into running a good 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.   Mme. Emp

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 40

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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.  The noise attack from the restaurant became shorter but still damaging enough to