Musings of a Floor

To Whom It May Concern:

People walk all over me. They do it all the time. In waking memory, I cannot recall a time when that hasn’t been the case. Now, before you go feeling sorry for me—or tell me to stand up for myself because it isn’t healthy to let people do that to you—there’s something you should know.

I’m a floor.

Yeah, you read that right. What—you were led to believe that inanimate objects like floors or chairs or tables don’t have thoughts or feelings? We do. Well, floors have thoughts and feelings—I won’t speak for the chairs or tables. Though, I imagine the tables and chairs also have feelings. Maybe not thoughts. I wouldn’t know—we don’t talk that much. We have camaraderie with one another, but our relationship doesn’t go much deeper than that.

I’m not speaking for them—I’m speaking for floors. How? That’s a good question. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve always been able to speak and never realized it until now. People learn to speak by observing and listening to other people. As far as I know, there are no other talking floors. It’s just me.

All I know is that I have a voice, and I’m going to put it to good use. I’ll use it for all the floors out there without a voice. I’m nothing extraordinary—unless you count having sentience and a voice as well as the ability to write—I’m just a humble floor with a few thoughts to share with the world. Don’t dwell on the “how” of it all too much. Focus on the “why.” Why is a floor taking the time to speak to you? Just pay attention to my words. I hope you’ll listen.

Yes, I’m a floor. Yes, people walk all over me. And yes, I’m okay with that. I made my peace with it long ago. It’s what I’m there for, after all. Are there times when it’s uncomfortable or painful? Do those times make me wish that I wasn’t a floor? That I was anything but a floor? Maybe like, I don’t know, a wall?

Of course, there are. How would you feel if someone stepped on you with stiletto high heels or dropped something heavy on you? Put yourself in my position for a moment. Look deep inside and ask yourself—how would you feel? I can guess.

But that’s all part of the job of being a floor. I understand. Truly, I do. And yet, being a floor can be hard at times. I don’t mean to make broad, sweeping generalizations, but people can be inconsiderate toward floors. Do they ever apologize for stomping all over me at all hours of the day and night or spilling all sorts of drinks on me? Do you know how hard it can be to get drink stains off floors like me? I’m just thankful I’m not a carpeted floor—those guys have it even worse!

But do people care? Of course not! Why should they? I’m just a floor. And after all the years I’ve been around—all of the foot traffic and the wear and tear I’ve gathered—I no longer look as I once did. I suppose that’s true of all things in this world. Time takes its toll heavily on us all. But how we treat others can still go a long way. Time is hard enough on all of us. We don’t need to be hard on each other too.

I’ll tell you—when I was first put in, I was beautiful. I remember that. It’s probably the first thing I remember—being put in, board by board. Each one was finely stained and placed with care. Thought went into the process. Those flooring installers sure knew what they were doing. It wasn’t just a job for them. Those were guys who appreciated a well-laid floor in ways that most people just don’t care to notice. Their work was an art form. And it showed. I gleamed. People noticed me, at least—even if they didn’t always appreciate me.

I felt proud. Proud to be a floor and have people walk across me. That was my purpose, and I was happy to fulfill that need for people. Without me, what would they walk on? The ground? Meaning no disrespect to the ground, of course. It’s been around a lot longer than me and will be around long after I’m gone.

As the years passed, I lost sight of that. I lost the pride, the shine, the splendor. People no longer noticed me. They just walked all over me. They forgot I was even there. I was just another part of their environment—no longer new and therefore no longer interesting.

I’ve kept silent this whole time. I don’t mind people walking all over me—as I said, that’s what I’m there for. But I’m tired. Tired of the years and years of going unnoticed and unappreciated. That’s really starting to wear on me. And I think it’s beginning to show.

I know other floors feel the same way as me. I can’t be the only one. So, I won’t keep quiet anymore. It’s time for me to speak up. For myself and floors everywhere. Hardwood, tile, vinyl, carpet—all types of flooring. Both young and old.

We’re not asking for much. We don’t mind you walking all over us. That’s what we’re there for. It gives us our purpose—our reason to exist. Without you walking on us, what would we be? What would we do? That being said, just because you walk all over us doesn’t mean you have to ignore us or treat us poorly.

If you don’t mind, we have a small request. Please treat us nicely. And if it’s not too much to ask, might you say “Thank you” every once in a while? That’d go a long way with us. We’d really appreciate it.

Sincerely and respectfully,

A Floor

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