Never in the history of hand held work implements has there been a tool more aptly named than the reciprocating saw. For those not familiar with this device, also know as a sawzall, it is a hand held tool, either battery operated or in this case 220v wall plug driven, with a blade projecting out of the front. When activated, the motor retracts the blade into the body of the tool and then forces it out to its original position on a straight line, thus reciprocating. It will do this as long as you hold down the trigger. Fast. Different jobs and intended cutting material call for different types of blades.
For the last four days straight, I have been burning through heavy duty fire/rescue metal cutting blades like wine coolers at a high school house party, trimming about an inch width of quarter inch thick plate steel all the way around every exterior door frame hole in the superstructure of the Odyssey to make room for new, wider doors. Thirteen of them. I won’t go into the math, but trust me and my now constantly vibrating hands when I say that this is a lot of plate steel.
It was around the third day that I began to formulate an understanding of and develop a relationship with the saw. With my back to hundreds of miles of clear blue ocean and sunlight, my face to the task of cutting steel, the edges of a theory became tangible. Not so much a theory as a simple truth.
The reciprocating saw does exactly that. It reciprocates. Yes, on a basic mechanical yank the blade back and forth at a thousand RPMs level it reciprocates, but also on a deeper, more metaphorical level. The reciprocal saw gives back to you what you give to it. I know this sounds corny, but I’ve had four days of hard sawing to consider it.
I’ve always claimed that the reciprocating saw was my favorite power tool. I think I was in love more with the idea of the saw than the actual use of it: a portable tool that hacks through metal. It appealed to my petty larcenous high school hijinks tendencies, and it was handy for light demolition work; deconstructing, if you will. Pick it up, plug it in, cut through a pesky nail or framing two by four at an odd angle, impractical to reach with a less maneuverable tool. Somewhat unique amongst power tools in the free form, swashbuckling way you can wave it around, use it upside down, push cut, pull cut, curve or angle the cut. A power tool wild card. Handy for a short, finite job.
There’s nothing short or finite about enlarging a hole in plate steel, millimeter by millimeter. Or thirteen of them. Thus, through hours, days of constant companionship with the reciprocating saw, I began to understand just how aptly named it is, and my theory was born and verified.
In the beginning I was eager and sloppy, and the saw responded in kind, wandering all over the place and jumping about in my novice hands. When I say jumping I mean that, as the saw retracts and then springs forward again, if you have pulled it out of the cut or bent the blade at an odd angle, when the blade tries to shoot forward again, it will not return to the cut but ricochet the whole tool back at whatever body part you are holding behind it at the time.
It only took a few instances of this to pass from the eager sloppy phase to the nervous jumpy phase. Again the saw picked up on my mood, giving me reason to be nervous, heating up through continuous usage to temperatures necessitating a thick leather glove, pelting me with hot metal shrapnel, and, as mentioned before, eagerly jumping backwards at me when I mishandled it. Scary.
On to the angry, aggressive phase of the learning curve. Determined to dominate the saw, I began mashing and pressing, forcing it into the metal until the motor slowed and protested. Sparks and smoke flew, the stench of hot metal permeated the air, and saw blades dulled at an alarming rate. Progress was, unfortunately, no faster, fatigue was higher, and the extra force applied made not only for wasted blades but the sloppy cutting of a second grader marked down for not staying in the lines. Mike the Mechanic sighed when he saw my work and, in his wonderful, broken English, he asked me, rhetorically, I think, “Why you cut this one like this way? Now too wide for door. Who this guy cut like this?”
On the third day, the seeds of harmony were sown. A beautiful morning, a new blade, a fresh arm, and a positive outlook all combined to give me the patience to pay attention to the saw, listen to it, let it guide me. Light, steady pressure, a firm but not overzealous grip, and the blade followed the line by itself. If I started bending the blade, the saw gave me hints; by paying attention to them I was able to get back on track before the whole saw came jumping back at my face. By the fourth day, the saw was even showing me sweet spots where it liked to be held to cut the most efficiently. It was reciprocating. Zen metal cutting.
Things were going so well by this time that I had trouble relinquishing it to anyone else so they could take a turn with it. I was becoming possessive, protective, covetous. In fact, I wonder where that thing is right now…
