The Case of the Car Dealership Tile Floor
The call came in mid-morning. Car dealership. Big glass windows, shiny metal, and a stone floor that was anything but shiny. The dealer said the tile was defective. Black stains everywhere. Claimed it came that way. They always do.
I pointed the woody toward town and made my usual stop at the diner. Flo didn’t even ask what I wanted. Coffee hit the table like evidence.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Stone floor turning ugly and nobody wants to admit they caused it.”
“You’ve been reading my mail again,” I said.
She smirked. “Stone doesn’t get dirty by itself.”
At the Dealership
The dealership smelled like tire rubber and bad cologne. The floor was a darkened mess. Black streaks, cloudy patches, footprints that looked like they’d been preserved for future generations. The manager blamed the stone. Said it was flawed from day one. Said customers were complaining. Said lawyers might get involved. Everyone always says that last part a little too fast.
I knelt down and rubbed my finger across the surface. The stone underneath was fine. Dense. Clean where it hadn’t been abused. The grime lifted easily. Too easily. That’s when I knew.
Following the Evidence
I asked to see their mop bucket.
It came rolling out like a confession on wheels. The water was black. Not gray. Not cloudy. Black. Looked like it had been cleaning floors since Truman was in office. The mop head was worse. It smelled like every mistake they’d ever made.
I dipped a clen mop into clean water, wrung it out, and wiped a small test area. Then I used their mop and their water, same spot, same pressure. The clean area stayed clean. The other one darkened instantly.
I didn’t say a word. I just stepped back and let the floor do the talking.
The manager stared at it like it had just betrayed him.
The Real Culprit
That stone wasn’t staining. It was being painted. Every night, that filthy mop water was spreading dirt, oils, tire residue, and whatever else came off the lot right back onto the floor. Stone doesn’t know the difference between cleaning and coating. It absorbs what you give it.
I explained it slow. Clean water only. Change it often. Neutral cleaner. No shortcuts. No mystery chemicals. And for the love of all things polished, stop mopping dirt onto the floor and calling it maintenance.
The word defective never came up again.
Case Closed
Back at the diner, Flo topped off my cup.
“Dealer?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Stone innocent?”
“As usual.”
She nodded. “Funny how stone always gets blamed for human habits.”
I paid my tab, slid into the woody, and drove off. Another case wrapped up. The floor didn’t need replacing. It needed better manners. And maybe a new mop.
