The Case of the Sticky Marble Floor
Hear this story read aloud.
A Rainy Morning and a Call for Help
It was one of those mornings when the coffee at Flo’s diner was strong enough to wake the dead. The kind of brew that makes you wonder if she filters it through a sock. I was sitting on the stool at the counter, leaning back and watching the rain slide down the window when Flo came over with a smirk that said trouble was brewing.
“You look like a man who needs a case,” she said, dropping my eggs and toast in front of me.
“I need a refill more than a case,” I told her. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
Right then, the phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. Some fancy hotel downtown. The kind of place that charges extra for air and calls it “luxury.” The manager sounded nervous, said the marble lobby floor was sticky and guests were complaining their shoes made that squelch sound when they walked. Not the kind of thing that fits the image of a five-star hotel.
I told Flo to box up the rest of my breakfast and headed out to the parking lot. My old woody wagon sat there like a tired detective, weathered but still ready to roll. I fired her up, and she coughed like an old smoker before settling into her usual growl.
The Scene of the Sticky Crime
When I pulled up to the hotel, I was greeted by a nervous manager in a suit that probably cost more than my car. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said, sweating through his collar. “We just had the marble refinished last month, but it’s gotten… tacky.”
“Tacky as in cheap-looking or tacky as in sticky?” I asked.
He blinked. “Sticky.”
The marble gleamed like it had been polished yesterday. Guests were walking across it carefully, like they were stepping on flypaper. I took a few slow strides myself and felt that unmistakable drag under my shoes. Something wasn’t right.
Following the Sticky Trail
I knelt down and ran a finger across the floor. It felt greasy, almost like syrup. I sniffed my fingertip. Smelled like… detergent. Cheap detergent. I’d seen this before.
“Who’s been mopping this floor?” I asked.
He motioned toward a cleaning cart sitting in the corner. I walked over and found the culprit, a beat-up yellow mop bucket half full of gray water that looked like it came from a swamp. The label on the bottle next to it read All-Purpose Floor Cleaner. I knew that brand. It had more wax than a candle factory.
The Truth About Marble and Cleaners
Here’s the thing about marble floors: they don’t play well with cheap cleaners. You use the wrong stuff, it builds up layer after layer of residue until the surface feels sticky. Add some humidity and a few dozen pairs of dress shoes, and you’ve got a marble skating rink—minus the fun.
The Real Story Unfolds
I asked to see the maintenance log. Turns out they’d fired their old floor crew and brought in a budget outfit to “save money.” Happens every time. They probably thought they were getting a deal, but what they got was a mess.
I explained that the “sticky” feel wasn’t from the marble but from the gunk left behind by that dirty mop and bargain-bin cleaner. The solution?
- Strip the buildup from the surface
- Rinse the stone with a proper neutral cleaner
- Retrain the janitorial crew to avoid future issues
The manager looked like I’d just told him the kitchen was on fire. “Can it be fixed?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “You just need the right cleaner, clean water, and someone who knows what they’re doing. Oh, and maybe retire that mop. It’s seen better days.”
He nodded, still looking pale. I handed him my card. “Call me if it happens again. Or better yet, call before it does.”
Back at Flo’s
Back in my woody, I lit up a stick of gum and turned the key. Rain was still coming down, but the city looked a little cleaner. Flo’s diner wasn’t far, and I knew she’d still have that boxed-up breakfast waiting.
When I walked back in, she raised an eyebrow. “Solve your sticky situation?”
“Yep,” I said. “Turns out the case wasn’t about the floor at all.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, pouring me another cup.
“Yeah. It was the mop what did it.”
She laughed. “Figures. It’s always the dirty ones that cause the most trouble.”
I took a sip of that bitter coffee and smiled. She wasn’t wrong.
