The lab floor ready for treatment.
I once told a good friend of mine, several years ago, that I was done with building shops myself. That I would, from then forward, always contract the work out. Well, sometimes I'm wrong.
I think I'm a control freak. From the standards and quality that our baristas perform under to the crazy little details of whether or not that little splotch on the wall will be noticed by customers - even though it's soaring nine feet above their heads and behind where they will be sitting. Fact is, I know that splotch is there and no matter how nice the rest of the details are, that little splotch will shout at me every time I walk into the space for the next ten years. It's maddening.
Now that most of the paint work has been completed, it's time to start working on the floors. Luckily, the early 20th Century hardwood floors are in good condition and only in need of a light screening and reapplication of oil-based polyurethane.
A little sand, a little urethane.
My problem is that I actually kinda enjoy the work and the labor. There's something oddly satisfying about seeing that gouge in the wall disappear under layers of spackle, sanding and paint. And seeing the floor glistening with new polyurethane gets my blood boiling (not to mention the slight high from the non-environmentally-friendly chemicals in the urethane).
Next up: laying down vinyl flooring in the food prep area.
Early 20th Century hardwood gets a refinish.
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