The Case of the Itchy Countertop
It was a slow Wednesday—real slow. The kind of day where the coffee pot’s working harder than I am, and the only excitement is a crossword puzzle I already finished yesterday. I was just getting cozy in my creaky office chair, the smell of old stone dust in the air and a fresh cup of joe steaming on my desk, when the phone rang. The kind of ring that tells you trouble’s on the line.
“Stone Detective,” I said in my usual gravelly tone, like sandpaper on a tombstone.
The voice on the other end was a whisper with a side of worry. “Hi… I don’t know if you’re the right person, but… I think my kitchen countertop is making me sick.”
That perked me up faster than a double espresso.
“Sick how?” I asked, sliding the newspaper aside.
“Every time I use the counter, I break out in a rash,” she said. “I thought it was something I cleaned with, or maybe food allergies. But I’ve changed everything… and the rash just keeps coming back.”
Now I’ve heard of stone cracking, staining, even smelling—but attacking? That was a new one.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Susan.”
“Well, Susan, sounds like your countertop’s got secrets. I’ll swing by this afternoon and take a look.”
I pulled into a quiet neighborhood a few hours later, my Woodie rattling like a rock tumbler. Susan answered the door looking tired, with that look people get when the mystery in their house starts keeping them up at night. She led me into the kitchen. Bright, modern… and there it was—a slick, shimmering quartz countertop. Gray with little flecks that sparkled like it belonged in a jewelry case. I ran a hand over it. Smooth. Too smooth.
“When’d this rash start?” I asked.
“Right after the countertop was installed,” she said. “We never had this problem with our old granite.”
Bingo. That was my first clue.
“This isn’t natural stone,” I muttered, more to myself than her. “This is quartz. Engineered.”
She nodded. “We picked it because it’s low-maintenance.”
Sure. Low-maintenance… until it isn’t.
I popped open my inspection kit and did a little light testing—nothing too invasive, just checking for off-gassing or any chemical residue. Nothing screamed “biohazard,” but then I remembered something from a case I cracked years ago.
“Quartz counters are about 90% crushed stone,” I told her, “but the rest—that other 10%—that’s resin. Plastic stuff. Usually polyester or epoxy.”
Her eyes widened like someone just slapped her with a wet sponge.
“Oh my god… I’m allergic to epoxy resin. I totally forgot!”
I leaned against the counter, careful not to touch it too long.
“Well, that 10% might be making up 100% of your problem.”
I explained how, even though these tops are cooked and cured at the factory, some folks are sensitive to trace chemicals. If her installers sanded or cut the surface on-site, they might’ve stirred up just enough dust to stir up her immune system.
She asked me if there was a fix.
“Well, you’ve got options,” I said. “Start with a deep clean using a pH-neutral cleaner. Something gentle. Use a microfiber cloth. If it’s dust or residue, that might clear it up.”
“And if it doesn’t?” she asked, still hopeful.
“Then we try a food-safe barrier sealer. There are coatings out there that can create a buffer between you and the resin. Worst case, you go old-school—natural stone like granite or soapstone. No resins, no binders, no itching.”
Her eyes lit up like a showroom chandelier. “Thank you. I knew you were the right one to call.”
Just another day in the life of a stone sleuth.
A few weeks later, I got an email from Susan. She’d tried the cleaning. Helped some. But in the end, she swapped out the quartz for soapstone.
“No more rashes!” she wrote. “Thanks again, Stone Detective.”
I poured myself another cup of coffee and leaned back in my chair. Another mystery solved. In this business, it’s never just the stone—it’s what’s lurking beneath the surface. And believe me, pal, the stone never lies.
Stay tuned. Something always comes rolling in with the next ring of the phone.
