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Metro Maids Reviews from Real Customers
Dust, Debris, and Detroit Grit
Okay, so. I thought I was ready.
I mean, I watched all the HGTV. I had Pinterest boards labeled “Rustic Industrial Loft Vibes (But Make It 1920s Detroit).” I even bought one of those cute little tool belts that makes you look like you know what you’re doing (spoiler: I did not).
But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the reality of my “charming” West Village fixer-upper. That first walk-through after closing? Romantic as hell with the afternoon light streaming through the original (slightly crooked) leaded glass windows. The next morning? Reality hit like a Michigan pothole.
The previous owners had… let’s say “lived vigorously” for about 60 years. The kitchen had this sticky film that could probably survive nuclear winter. The bathroom? Let’s not talk about the bathroom. (Actually, let’s—there was moss growing in the tile grout. Moss. In Detroit.)
My contractor took one look and said, “You’re gonna wanna hazmat this before we even think about demo,” which—coolcoolcool—wasn’t in the budget spreadsheet titled “Dream Home (No Really This Time).”
I tried to DIY it for exactly one weekend.
Armed with a gallon of industrial degreaser and the kind of optimism that only comes from never having scrubbed century-old linoleum before, I got to work. Three hours in: back spasms, two ruined sponges, and the horrifying realization that the “wood” floors were actually just several generations of dirt disguised as wood.
At 2am, covered in mysterious gray dust and eating coney island leftovers over my sink (because obviously I hadn’t cleaned that yet), I googled “deep cleaning service Detroit historic home” with my pinky (the only finger not currently cramping). Found one of those house cleaning cost calculator things—expected to have a heart attack when I saw the estimate, but then I did the math on how many weekends I’d waste doing it myself (and potentially inhaling who-knows-what from the ancient furnace ducts)…
Worth it. So worth it.
The cleaning crew showed up with equipment that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. One guy took a steam cleaner to the kitchen walls and—I swear to god—revealed actual wallpaper under what I’d assumed was just “the wall’s personality.” Another woman attacked the bathroom with this tiny brush and the focus of a neurosurgeon, emerging victorious over the moss situation.
Best part? They knew all about old Detroit homes—the quirks, the materials, the surprises lurking under layers of neglect. “Oh yeah, these are original hex tiles under here,” one said, scraping up decades of wax. “They don’t make ’em like this anymore.” (Cue me tearing up over bathroom flooring like it was my firstborn.)
Now, is the place done? Hell no. I still trip over plywood in the hallway and the stairs creak like they’re auditioning for a horror movie. But coming home to clean chaos? Game-changer. No more guilt-tripping myself about the dust when I’m trying to pick paint colors. No more apologizing to friends who “don’t mind” sitting on folding chairs in what will eventually be a dining room.
Turns out, starting fresh doesn’t just mean knocking down walls—sometimes it means washing away the literal ghosts of residents past. (And okay, fine, maybe the $200 I spent having them detail the original built-ins was overkill, but have you seen how the tiger oak shines now? No regrets.)
Detroit’s all about resilience, right? Well, turns out that includes knowing when to call in the cavalry—so you can save your energy for the fights worth fighting. Like arguing with the plumbing inspector. Or explaining to your neighbors why you need that vintage clawfoot tub on the front lawn for “aesthetic reasons.”
— Danny Kowalski, Detroit, MI