The Case of the DIYer
The Call
It was early, the kind of early where the diner smells like coffee and yesterday. I was at my usual spot at the counter. Flo slid the mug in front of me without asking. Black. Hot. Exactly right. Outside the window, my Woody sat in the parking lot, my old 1940s truck ticking to himself like he was thinking things over.
Flo leaned on the counter. “You look like someone’s about to make a bad decision.”
She wasn’t wrong…The phone buzzed.
The voice on the other end sounded confident at first. Then it didn’t.
“I rented one of those floor machines,” she said. “Thought I’d hone and polish my marble floor myself. Watched a bunch of videos.”
I took a sip of coffee and let the silence do some work.
“And now?” I asked.
“Well… now there are deep gouges. Like the machine grabbed the floor.”
I closed my eyes. I’ve heard that sentence before.
The Scene
An hour later, I was standing in her living room, looking down at a marble floor that had taken a beating. Deep grooves cut across it, uneven, ugly, and permanent unless someone knew exactly how to undo the damage. This wasn’t normal wear. This wasn’t etching. This was rental equipment mixed with optimism.
She stood behind me, arms folded tight.
“I thought honing was just smoothing it out,” she said.
“It is,” I told her. “But marble isn’t forgiving.”
She had started too aggressively. Wrong diamonds. Too much pressure. The machine bounced, dug in, and never looked back. Marble doesn’t scream when you hurt it. It just keeps the scars.
The Diagnosis
Back at the diner later, I was back at the counter. Flo topped off my coffee.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re fixing another mess.”
“Nope,” I said. “Not this one.”
She raised an eyebrow.
” I told the homeowner earlier, this needs a full restoration, flat grinding, proper honing, real polishing. It’s not a touch up job. You need a pro who does this every day.”
I handed her a card. A buddy of mine. Solid stone restoration guy. Knows marble. Knows when to stop. Knows how to bring a floor back without making it worse.
“I don’t do that kind of work anymore,” I said. “My job is figuring out what went wrong. His job is fixing it.”
She nodded. Relief mixed with embarrassment. Happens every time.
Lessons from the Floor
When I walked out, My Woody was waiting. I fired him up and let him idle a minute before pulling away. People think stone restoration is about machines and diamonds. It isn’t. It’s about restraint. Knowing the difference between improving a floor and destroying it. Renting a machine doesn’t make you a pro. Watching a video doesn’t teach feel. And marble has no patience for learning curves.
Some floors get worn out.
This one got taught a lesson.
Final Notes from the Detective
Case closed.
