Renton is not one housing stock. It is four, laid on top of each other, and which one you live in decides what goes wrong with your floor.
Downtown and North Renton came first. The city incorporated in 1901 on coal and brick, with Pacific Car and Foundry arriving in 1905, and houses from the 1910s and 1920s are still standing on those blocks. Pull the carpet in one and what is usually underneath is narrow clear vertical-grain Douglas fir, the wood that was local and cheap at the time. Fir is softer than oak. It dents under a chair leg, it takes a pet stain quickly, and by now most of it has been sanded at least twice. We measure what is left above the tongue before we promise anything.
Up the hill to the east is the Highlands, and it exists because Boeing broke ground on the Renton plant in 1941 to assemble B-29s. Federal money under the Lanham Act put roughly 420 acres and more than two thousand units of worker housing up in a hurry, much of it built to be taken apart again once the war ended. It never was. Renton annexed the area in 1945, the houses were sold to the families living in them, and eight decades of covering, uncovering and re-covering have happened since. The Sunset Area has been rebuilt in waves since 2012, so a single street can hold a wartime house with fir under two layers of old vinyl and, across from it, a building finished last decade running click LVP wall to wall.
Then there is the bulk of the city, and the number that describes it best is the median build year: 1988. Benson Hill — annexed in 2008, more than 22,000 people, close to a quarter of Renton — along with Cascade, Tiffany Park, Renton Park, Rolling Hills, Spring Glen, and the Fairwood blocks that still sit in unincorporated King County despite carrying a Renton mailing address. These are subdivisions from the 1960s through the 1990s: plywood subfloor, wall-to-wall carpet, sheet vinyl in the kitchen. Nearly all of it has been updated at least once, and the update was laminate or engineered hardwood. Both have thin wear layers. Both get repaired by replacing planks, not by sanding, which is precisely the work we do most of out here.
And then there is water. The Cedar River runs through the middle of town on its way into Lake Washington, and it floods. Levees line the last mile and a quarter through downtown, which is the only reason the damage stops where it does. Add the Kennydale slope above the lake, where runoff finds the low corner of a daylight basement, and the ordinary Puget Sound stretch of rain from October through May, and water damage makes up a larger share of the repair calls here than it does further inland. It is also why a moisture reading comes before the quote on this side of the county, every single time.
One last thing shapes the job in Renton. Close to half of the city's households rent, and a large share of the housing is apartments rather than detached houses — the multifamily blocks in the Highlands, the buildings around The Landing, Southport out on the lake. Those floors are LVP almost without exception, and between tenants they need fast, clean plank swapping, not a week of sanding and a building full of people who cannot walk across their own living room.