I walked through the diamond district the other day. It's a single block, 47th Street between Fifth and Sixth, chock-a-block with jewelry sellers. Wholesale, retail, guys with diamonds jingling in their pockets, a ingot of armored trucks idling at curbside. I've never shopped there, not being a diamonds kind of girl, but it was between Grand Central and where I was going, so on Thursday morning before nine, I found myself thinking about linoleum.
See, my mother had known a guy who'd been in the jewelry business forever. It was a family business, and they made fancy, high-end baubles for fancy, rich women. After years and years in one location, they saw fit to move their shop, and in the process of packing up to move, one of the things they did was sell the worn linoleum floor. You see, the old floor had so much gold dust ground into it from so many years of fabrication that it was worth money to someone who was going to reclaim the gold, a modern day prospector if you will.
Did you know that a jewelry maker's linoleum floor could be worth a fortune?