I felt it long before I ever saw it.
Every day the house shook with a deep rumbling that made my ribs thud in my
chest as workers tore off the back wall and roof for a kitchen bump-out. What
was that monstrous tool they were using? The groaning of wood and unearthly
crunching of metal sounded as if a mechanical carnivore was attacking the
house.
When I finally saw the beast, lying
quietly on the contractor’s toolbox, I was underwhelmed. The handheld
reciprocating saw, called a Sawzall, was only slightly larger than my cordless
drill and had a little finger-sized blade. Hey, I can handle this thing. And I
knew of its hidden power. Dainty and destructive. What more could a girl want?
With a worker egging me on, I picked
it up with my right hand and put my finger on the trigger. I gripped the shaft
with my left. Aiming for an old laminate counter I’m replacing, I pressed the
button and that nasty little blade got right to work, jerking back and forth
like nobody’s business. My arms shook. My ears rang. Bits of wood flew in all
directions.
It ripped through the counter and
kept going. If I hadn’t jumped back that crazy weasel would have chewed into my
leg. It could probably cut through my thigh in seconds. Who needs lipo? Better
still, I’ll bet it could chop up a corpse in the time it takes to fix dinner.
The Sawzall is the perfect antidote
to suburban midlife crisis. In the span of an afternoon, you can destroy
everything you’ve worked for. Some people bury themselves in debt to buy boats
or fancy cars. Others bury their faces in the necks of someone else’s husband.
When the time comes — and I’m not saying it isn’t here — my midlife
implosion of choice will involve burying the Sawzall blade into my stuff.
I’m not quite ready to tear down a
house that I am only now getting around to improving and there’s never a corpse
around when you need one. So my new Sawzall will have to wait until
Thanksgiving dinner for its debut. Just the thing to add excitement to my
family’s boring, at-table turkey-carving ritual.
Imagine. The glistening bird. The
family and friends. The mild, but politely expressed surprise at my unorthodox
choice of knife. Then, instead of slices of moist white meat — which take
forever to carefully place on the platter — ragged chunks of hot turkey fly
out from under the blade and land right on the guests’ plates. And in their
hair. And on the curtains.
Anyone with a Sawzall will confirm
that once you’ve used one, there’s no turning back. For Christmas, I can cut
down one of the decorative firs growing out front. If it’s too big for the
living room, no biggie. I’ll Sawzall the piano in half. No one will even notice
because half the keys don’t work anyway.
Until I’m ready to totally
Sid-and-Nancy my life, I wish I could find an online support community. But
there’s nothing. No Sawzall cult website, no Sawzall-centered blogs.
The Sawzall does appear in an online
Christmas video, however. That is, I think it’s a Christmas video. Under a
glowing cross, a woman in black fishnets and a torn party dress uses festive
red ribbon to bind and gag a bald, naked mannequin. Then she slaps it and cuts
off its face with a Sawzall. I hadn’t thought of that.
This article appears in Nov 16-22, 2005.
