The Case of the Melting Pool Coping
Hear this story read aloud.
A Hot Start and a Distress Call
It was one of those mornings when the Florida sun was already trying to melt the asphalt, and my fedora had developed a sweat ring that looked like a coffee stain from my third cup. I had just slid into my usual booth at the Greasy Spoon when Flo, the queen of sarcasm and burnt toast, walked over with that smirk that said, “You again?”
“You look like you’ve been cooked medium rare, Stone Boy,” she said, slapping down my eggs with the grace of a forklift operator. I gave her my usual nod and reached for the hot sauce when my phone buzzed.
Now I don’t get texts with hearts or emojis. I get the kind that say “Help” or “Emergency” or in this case, “Stone around pool crumbling. Need you ASAP.”
I sighed, tipped Flo a fiver, grabbed my fedora, and jumped in the old woody. She called after me, “Don’t drown, Stone Boy. I’m not rescuing you in heels.”
Inspecting the Scene
The place was one of those modern builds with more glass than sense. Big pool, lots of limestone coping, and a homeowner pacing like he just saw his Tesla charging cable chewed by raccoons.
“Glad you could come,” he said. “My pool guy doesn’t know what’s happening. The limestone around the pool is falling apart. Cracks, pits, flaking… it’s like it’s dissolving.”
Music to my ears. I love a good mystery before noon.
Crumbling Clues and Chemical Whispers
I walked over and started inspecting. Sure enough, the coping looked like it had been through a war zone. The surface was rough, the edges were softening like old soap, and there were white crusty deposits just under the surface in spots.
I took out my trusty loupe, my moisture meter, and my pH strips. I’m old school, and this was starting to smell like a chemistry problem.
“You mind if I check the pool water?” I asked.
“Go for it,” he said. “We just had it balanced last week.”
I dipped a test strip. Read it. Blinked. Tested again. Same result.
The Plot Acidifies
“Tell me,” I said slowly, “who’s maintaining this pool?”
“Just the usual guy,” he said. “Although last week my brother-in-law came by and said the water looked too cloudy. He used to clean pools in college. Said the pH was too high and dumped something in to fix it.”
“Something like what?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Said it was pH reducer.”
Diagnosis: Stone Meets Acid
Well, he reduced it all right. Right into the acidic danger zone. The pH read below 7—closer to 6.5. That might be fine for your shampoo, but for limestone? That’s like bathing it in lemon juice.
I explained, “Limestone is calcium carbonate. Acid eats it. You drop the pH too low, and it’s like giving your stone an acid peel. Won’t be long before it pits, flakes, and turns into gravel.”
His face dropped like his Bitcoin portfolio. “So… it’s ruined?”
“Let’s just say it’s retiring early,” I said. “You can seal what’s left, maybe replace the worst sections, but unless you keep that pH stable, it’ll just keep eating away.”
Case Closed… Sort Of
He mumbled something about his brother-in-law and revenge, but I was already halfway to the woody with thoughts of the Greasy Spoon and Flo.
Flo poured me a fresh cup before I sat down.
“So, what’s disintegrating today?” she asked.
“Limestone,” I said. “Victim of a pH hit job.”
She snorted. “I told you acid was bad. Gave it up in the 70s.”
I laughed, sipped my coffee, and tipped my hat back.
Another case closed. Another stone saved—well, maybe. You can’t always reverse stupid, but you can at least point it out.
Till next time, stay neutral… pH neutral.
