The Ogres
My Swedish neighbor in Montmartre once told me that Paris is lovely for a year or two, but after a while its “crumbling glory” starts to aggravate anyone accustomed to modern conveniences. I lived next-door to her in a studette apartment for several months. A studetteis a charming term that French landlords have adopted to describe an apartment that is smaller than a studio but slightly larger than the miniature chambre de bonnne (maid’s quarters) so prevalent on the eighth floor of Parisian buildings without elevators.
After months of 8-am wake-up calls from sledgehammers, I didn’t even receive a one-Euro reduction on my monthly rent from my evil wanker landlord. The banging became so intense that my wall cracked in two, and a gaping hole formed. The sound of my sobs sent the construction workers dashing into my apartment to repair the ‘crumbling glory.’ They made a habit of knocking on my door when I was still in my pajamas, in order to “check up on” the state of my ancient Parisian wall. One of the creeper construction workers even tried to kiss me while I was crying on the phone to the frustratingly French electricity company. Charm is easily overwhelmed by disaster.
2 Responses to “The Ogres”
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Wow, ok, I feel better about my living situation now. That really sucks! Of course, finding another apartment in Paris is also a horrible experience. Hope the construction workers leave you alone soon.
Thanks for the support!
I found a new apartment by a stroke of FUSAC luck!
xxo H