The Case of the Stubborn Quartz Stain
It was one of those days when my coffee tasted like old socks and my stack of case files looked like a mountain of regrets. I was halfway through building a card tower on my desk, a feat that had taken most of the morning, and had just crowned it with the Ace of Spades when the phone rang. Figures.
“Stone Detective,” I growled into the receiver, hoping the voice on the other end would think twice about ruining my architectural masterpiece. No such luck.
“Hi, Detective. This is Shelly. Shelly from that fancy new development downtown.” Her voice was as jittery as a marble on a granite countertop. “I’ve got a problem with a quartz countertop that’s, well, stained.
“Ah, quartz. The material that’s supposed to be as bulletproof as Superman’s cape. “Stained, you say?” I replied, my eyebrow twitching like a nervous tick. “Alright, Shelly, I’ll swing by.”
I arrived at Shelly’s place, a modern palace with more glass than a trophy shop. She led me to the scene of the crime: a gleaming white quartz countertop that looked like it belonged in a magazine, except for a suspicious yellowish mark near the sink. It looked like it had been there long enough to pack a suitcase.
Shelly wrung her hands like she was trying to wash away her worries. “I thought quartz was supposed to be stain-proof! I read it online, somewhere between a quinoa salad recipe and a list of ways to reuse dryer lint.”
I gave her my best stone-cold stare. “That’s the thing, Shelly. Quartz is tough. It’s non-porous. But the resin in quartz, that’s another story.” I paused for effect, letting my words sink in like water in a leaky basement.
She blinked at me like I’d just spoken Martian. “Resin? What resin?”
I sighed. “Manufactured quartz is made up of crushed quartz and resin that holds it all together, like a family reunion with duct tape. The quartz itself doesn’t stain, but that resin can react with certain chemicals, foods, or cleaning products and cause discoloration. And don’t get me started on turmeric from your latest culinary adventure.”
She looked at me like I’d just solved the Da Vinci Code. “So, it’s the resin that’s the problem?”
“Exactly,” I said, tapping my finger on the counter like a judge’s gavel. ” Add in heat from that hairdryer you left too close or a scorching hot pan, and it can discolor faster than a cheap spray tan.”
Shelly’s eyes widened, and her face twisted into a grimace. “So what do I do? Can I fix it?”
“Well,” I said, giving her my best detective grin, “The best you can do is call in a pro or consider a replacement section if it’s that bad.”
Her shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon. “So much for maintenance-free, huh?”
I shrugged. “Nothing’s bulletproof, kid. Even Superman’s cape can snag on a nail.”
I tipped my hat, or would have if I’d been wearing one, and strolled back to my office, already thinking about rebuilding that card tower and maybe brewing a fresh pot of coffee that didn’t taste like socks.
Another case solved, or at least explained. The Stone Detective always gets his stain.
