The Case of the Falling Travertine Shower
The call came in on a Tuesday. It’s always a Tuesday. Mrs. Jones said her travertine shower was falling apart. Tiles popping loose and sliding down the wall like they’d given up on life. The shower was tall, about fifteen feet, which already told me this wasn’t your everyday soap and shampoo situation. Fifteen foot showers don’t fail quietly. They fail dramatically.
I grabbed my notebook, slid behind the wheel of my woody, and headed out. The woody still smells like old varnish and bad decisions. I like that. Keeps me grounded.
A Stop at the Diner
Before any case like this, I stop at the diner. Same booth. Same cracked vinyl. Flo was already there with the coffee pot, like she’d been waiting for me.
“Travertine” I muttered
“Travertine again?” she asked, pouring without asking.
“Shower this time,” I said. “Tall one.”
She shook her head. “Stone doesn’t fall off walls for no reason.”
Flo’s smarter than most inspectors I know.
First Look at the Scene
Mrs. Jones greeted me like I was a long-lost cousin who owed her money. We walked into the bathroom and there it was. A towering travertine wall stretching up like it was trying to touch heaven. Except heaven doesn’t usually shed tiles onto the shower floor.
A few pieces had already fallen. Clean backs. Thinset still stuck to the wall in spots, like it gave up halfway through the job. I tapped around. Hollow sounds echoed back at me. That’s stone’s way of confessing.
Reading the Stone
Travertine’s a funny character. Looks tough. Full of holes. Acts solid until moisture gets involved and gravity decides to weigh in. In a fifteen foot shower, water doesn’t just run down. It works its way in. Steam rises. Condensation builds. If the installer skipped proper waterproofing, didn’t burn the thinset into the stone, or trusted gravity to be kind, the stone eventually makes its move.
I checked the setting bed:
- Too dry in places.
- Poor coverage.
- No mechanical anchoring.
- No love.
On a wall that tall, travertine needs full support. It’s not drywall tile. It’s heavy, porous, and unforgiving. Once moisture gets behind it, the bond weakens, and the stone starts looking for a way out.
The Hard Truth
Mrs. Jones asked if it could just be glued back up.
I told her the truth. Travertine that’s already fallen is telling you the rest of the wall is thinking about it. This wasn’t a tile problem. It was a system problem. Bad prep. Bad installation. Gravity doing its job better than the installer did theirs. I gave her the name of a PRO that could salvage the project. She thanked me so I tipped my fedora and jumped back into the woody.
Case Closed
I headed back to the diner after. Flo slid over a plate of eggs like a closing argument.
“So,” she said, “what’d you find?”
“Stone did exactly what it was allowed to do,” I said. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”
She nodded. “Sounds about right.”
I finished my coffee, stepped outside, and climbed back into the woody. Another case closed. Stone never lies. You just have to know how to listen.
