How Nearly Breaking My Shins on a Floor Buffer Made Me a Better Problem Solver

by Drew Holmes

I took a deep breath as I grabbed the handle of the floor buffer, again, and tentatively squeezed. Immediately the force of the machine jerked it out of my hands, spun it around and, again, squarely smacked my shin. Struggling to stand, I had only one thought: This. Sucked.

Working utility crew at Special Events Catering had some obvious benefits. The night and weekend hours were perfect for a high school student, we had ample opportunities to learn professional cooking techniques, and we could take home all the leftover wedding cake we could eat. These benefits were almost perfectly offset by the long hours, grimy working conditions, and nightly soaking from a dish washing shift. This was, as I like to say, a job where you shower after work, not before.

This benefit to b.s. equation was balanced, that is, until it was time to clean the floors. Then the scales tipped solidly towards not getting paid enough to endure the physical pain of the task.

Washing the floors was a three-part process. Part One was using the hot-water power washer to remove the accumulated grease and grime. This was everyone’s favorite job, as it was satisfying and relatively painless if you did not touch the wrong part of the machine. Part Three was vacuuming the dirty water off the floor with the shop vac. This job was wetter, but the only real risk of pain was mild electrocution if you let the extension cord rest in the puddle you were standing in. That did not happen often, but the quick jolt you received was a reminder to have more care in the future.

By far, the worst job was Part Two — buffing the floor. After a section was power sprayed with hot water and soap, the person buffing would then go over it with the floor buffer. Grip strength was key, as the machine would pull wickedly and yank the handles away resulting in the aforementioned shin assault, of which I was a frequent victim. This risk of physical injury made drawing the short straw on floor cleaning day a veritable hell.

One summer, Brendan (older brother of Ryan, the friend who had gotten me the job) was home from college and came to work with us to make a few bucks. Floor cleaning was scheduled his first week and before we could rock-paper-scissors for who was stuck buffing, he eagerly spoke up.

“I’ll take the floor buffer!” he enthusiastically offered.

We were dumbfounded. This was like Sydney Carton volunteering to go to the gallows for a crime he did not commit. Concerned for Brendan’s safety (and mental faculties), I asked if he was sure.

“Absolutely!” he replied. “A couple of years ago we wrecked the floor at our apartment and were going to lose the damage deposit. We rented one of these to refinish the floor. It’s super fun if you know how to use it.”

Brendan proceeded to instruct me in proper floor buffing technique, a skill I was unknowingly missing. Instead of attempting to muscle the machine around the floor, he taught me to gently lean it and use the force of the spinning head to propel the buffer. After ten minutes I was swooping left to right effortlessly and the floor was spotless.

What I learned that day applies to music making, but also to life in general. When faced with a seemingly insurmountable task, ask one question: Is it impossible or is it impossible with the current approach? We get so caught up in a certain process or methodology that we cannot see obvious, easier paths to success. Or worse, we do not realize that there could be another way.

Whether it is changing a practice routine, using a slower metronome setting, or just taking a five-minute break, doing something different will yield different results when we have hit a wall. Trying a new technique paid enormous dividends while I worked at the caterer and I eagerly volunteered for buffing duty every time thereafter.

And never again were my shins battered by the floor buffer.