Some people dig up all the landscaping before they move. Some take the window treatments, the light fixtures, the major appliances. Amateurs all, I say. I’m taking my linoleum floor.
Some of you will understand this. You are my peeps, the ones who flood message boards wondering where oh where oh where you can buy this stuff. (Nowhere)
And some of you will not understand. You are the people who flood the internet with advice on how to remove linoleum, and then dance on its grave after you have ripped it into little shreds and damned its soul. You will replace the linoleum with gray flooring. You’re not bad people. You’re just doing a bad thing.
Anyway, linoleum can teach all of us something. And no, I’m not referring to what a comfortable, durable, environmentally friendly flooring solution it is. Or even how fun, colorful and joy inspiring in an otherwise drab gray world. (And by the way, I should make it clear I’m not talking about vinyl, which is often called linoleum but is really a petroleum product doppelgänger.)
No, I argue linoleum (or at least trying to remove it in one piece to take to your new house) can teach us real life lessons, the stuff that comes with wrinkles and bruised hearts. The stuff you try to tell the youngers. The stuff that you wish stuck the first time around, but in reality always needs review. So shall we?
1. Know what you’re getting into.
A cousin to measure twice, cut once, this is about doing your homework. I mean, sure, diving right in after a couple of beers can be fun at first but it usually leads to regret and unanswerable questions. Instead, peak under a corner, maybe under the fridge or a threshold. Is the glue dry and just aching to break free, or is it some evil precursor to Liquid Nails that will destroy you and everything around it before letting go? Try it in a way that lets you back out, no questions asked. And remember, I’m really talking about everything in life. Babysit before you get pregnant, that kind of thing.
2. Use leverage
Whether it’s a broomstick or your father’s friend from Harvard, use whatever advantage you can. A paint scraper was all I needed to get my linoleum up, but it was slow. So I got one with a threaded end to make a long handled tool. Yup, a lever, which as the cool kids say, amplifies input force to produce greater output force, not to mention lickity split linoleum removal.
3. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.
Sometimes, you don’t need to get clever; just roll with the obvious. In my case, quite literally. I was bound and determined to not create any cracks in my lino, so I tried all manner of crazy contortions to keep it flat. It was surprising to no one that I literally ran out of space and was forced to roll it up. It didn’t really cause any more splits and it made transporting it so much easier. So, if things are starting to get Byzantine, ask yourself, is there a more straightforward, obvious answer?
4. Focus on what you’re getting, not what you’re missing.
My gut told me to cut off the random edges of the linoleum and square it off. But I initially resisted. I wanted all of that lino, every last blessed inch of it. That didn’t work. Anything sticking out caught on stuff and created tears, making me lose more than if I had trimmed it to start with. This upset me until I remembered rule #4. You will never get everything. Sometimes you won’t get much at all. And even in your grandest successes, life has a cruel little way of guaranteeing that something will be lacking. Focus on what you’re getting, not what you’re missing. Find a way to be grateful. It will make you happy. Me and my rolled-up-slightly-cracked-but-totally-usable-unbelievably-awesome-impossible-to-buy-vintage linoleum guarantee it.
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